The Song in our Hearts
by Little Miss Slytherclaw
Summary: A Collection of One Shots based on lyrics from different musicals. All fics will have individual ratings listed in the A/N at the top of the fic, as well as appropriate warnings. Listed characters will be updated as I write new fics with new characters. Most recent fic is a Dark Regulus!AU
1. Oh How Beautiful Minds Break

**Hello! Welcome to my new collection (I would say it's my first? Because it's the first I'm actually putting energy into? But, I still _technically_ have "Coping," soooo... *insert shrug***

 **Everything here will be inspired by a specific line or two from a musical. Most of the lines will probably be given to me by real close friends. You are welcome to send me a line from your favorite musical (plus any other sort of information you might want in a fic ;p ), and I'll write you a fic!**

 **This _Little Fic of Horrors_ (pls get my reference), like this entire series, is all thanks to MoonytheMarauder1. She is one of the Chasers on my quidditch team for the QLFC! (Go Falcons!)**

 **The prompt for this is, "Who's crazy? The one who can't cope, or maybe the one who still hopes?" from _Next to Normal_ (watch/listen to it. It's incredible!)**

 **.**

 **This was also written for Hogwarts (where I am a Slytherin). All of the official prompts can be found at the bottom of my fic.**

 **.**

 **Warnings: Depression (and other emotional/mental trauma and sadness) and Character Death (implied, not described)**

 **Rating: T**

 **Word Count (excluding A/N): 1219**

* * *

 **Oh How Beautiful Minds Break**

Sirius Black's mind broke during the Battle of Hogwarts—the night Harry sacrificed himself to save the wizarding world.

After years of fighting—after the death of his closest friend, and the betrayal of his second closest friend—Sirius had two good things: Harry and Remus. When his list of good things was cut in half, he went mad. His mind had been corrupted, never to work properly again.

At first, his insanity showed in the things he didn't do; he didn't eat unless Remus hand-fed him; he didn't sleep unless a sleeping draught was pushed past his lips; he didn't speak, and it broke Remus's heart. Sirius had once been so rich in love, in passion, and in substance, but now he was broken, his body an empty, ragged shell.

St. Mungo's was overcrowded with those suffering with damage from the war; an exhausted Healer took one look at Sirius and told Remus that he was just in mourning, depressed from the consequences of war. No one had time to put into non-physical ailments, so Sirius was denied treatment, leaving Remus on his own to try and fight for his love's life. Had it not been for the constant supervision from the werewolf, Sirius might not have made it to his forties.

Every day, Remus followed a schedule: they ate breakfast, they went for a walk, they ate lunch, Remus read to Sirius, Sirius took a nap, they ate dinner, and Remus bathed Sirius. Every day, Remus prayed that the stability of the schedule would aid in returning Sirius to him, hoping that Sirius would remember how to live; every night, Remus would climb into their shared bed and hold Sirius, feeling as if he were sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean of Sirius's emotions.

Every day, Remus would ask himself who was crazier: Sirius, who could no longer cope, or himself, who would not give up the hope that maybe, someday, things would get better.

 **/-\**

Remus had been reading Sirius Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump when he heard a voice he hadn't heard in two years—the voice he had lost hope of ever hearing again.

"Please don't leave me unloved."

Sirius flinched when The Tales of Beedle the Bard fell from Remus's hand and landed on the floor with a loud clatter—it was the most movement Sirius had made on his own since Harry died. Remus felt his chest tighten.

"Siri?" he questioned timidly, his hands nervously pulling at the sleeves of his jumper. He was quietly wondering if he had fallen down the rabbit-hole of insanity with Sirius—could Sirius really have talked? After all this time?

"Is that really the time?" Sirius asked. He was looking at the clock; it was 2:19. "We need to get to headquarters. Training starts soon."

Remus bit his lip, feeling his stomach drop. "Love," he said softly, leaning down to pick up the book. "The war is over. We don't need to train anymore."

"Really?" Sirius asked, turning his attention. "You… We made it out alive?"

Remus hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. We are both alive."

"Where's Harry?"

Sirius's voice was so full of hope, something that Remus had lost over the last two years. He couldn't do it; he couldn't break Sirius again.

"Romania," Remus said softly, looking at the book in his hands. "He needed an escape after the war, so Charlie gave him a job."

 **/-\**

Remus Lupin's heart broke when he realized he couldn't keep up the lie anymore.

It had been three months since Sirius first spoke—three months of Sirius relearning how to take care of himself and live—three months of conversation and laughter—three months of Remus crawling into bed with Sirius, and being held back when he wrapped his arms around his love—three months of staying in because Remus claimed that Sirius still wasn't ready to go outside yet—three months of lies.

"What are you afraid of?" Sirius asked as they laid in bed, returning to the topic of conversation that they had been having over the past week. In the war, fear meant a lot of things: hoping not to be found by the Death Eaters, waiting by the front door for a loved one, praying for either life or a quick death.

Without the war, fear meant a completely different thing.

Holding Sirius close to his chest, their legs intertwined, Remus took a deep breath. "Everything should be perfect, right? I should be happy now, but I'm not," he whispered. "I guess I'm afraid I'll never be happy, but I want to be. I really do."

Sirius was silent for a moment. He was so warm, so alive, and Remus loved it, but he couldn't manage happiness—it wouldn't come.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked quietly, shifting to look up at Remus.

"I'm just… tired. Tired of holding on to things I'm not capable of carrying," Remus said after another moment of silence. "Why is everything so heavy?"

"You're talking about me, aren't you." Sirius's voice almost sounded dejected, but there was something else there. He sounded guilty.

Remus quickly shook his head, realizing he hadn't thought this through enough. He was about to respond, but Sirius quickly beat him to it, sitting up in the bed and looking down at Remus with an expression he couldn't read.

"It's okay, really," Sirius murmured, something like a smile slipping over his lips. "I understand. And, besides, you've done more than anyone should have had too. I'm doing better now. You can leave, and you don't have to feel guilty about it."

"Sirius, that's not what I—"

"Remus, honestly. It's okay. Thank you for everything you have done," Sirius said. There were tears in his eyes, but he was still smiling.

Unable to stop himself, Remus sat up, held Sirius's face carefully in his hands, and pressed a desperate kiss to his lips. There was so much emotion behind his actions, so much fear, and Remus could only hold onto it for so long before he had to pull back, the pain of his lie finally becoming too strong—he couldn't do it anymore.

"Harry is dead," he whispered, still holding Sirius's face.

Sirius, who had responded to the kiss with almost as much urgency as Remus had given, gave Remus a wide-eyed, heavy-breathing stare.

"Harry… Harry's dead?"

Remus could practically see the light fading from Sirius's eyes, and he knew he had to speak fast, or he might never get the chance.

"He died over two years ago during the Battle of Hogwarts. I wanted to tell you, but I had also just gotten you back. You don't understand how hard it was for me to see you like that, and I just wanted… I just wanted you to be okay," Remus blurted out quickly, holding Sirius's face just a little tighter.

"You lied," Sirius said softly, sounding broken, his eyes staring at Remus, but the werewolf felt as if Sirius wasn't really looking at him at all.

"I'm so sorry," Remus whimpered. "Don't leave me again. Stay with me," he begged, but the words fell on deaf ears—Sirius had already receded back into his mind, his body becoming unresponsive, and his expression becoming empty.

That night, as Remus held Sirius close, tears staining the pillow beneath him, Sirius didn't hold him back.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0**

 **Hogwarts - Biosciences #2: (alt) write about someone with depression or anxiety**

 **.**

 **Hogwarts Writing Clubs:**

 **.Ami's Audio #10: (emotion) depression**

 **.Bex's Basement #8: Someone lying for a good cause.**

 **.Count Your Buttons:**

 **...#1 (song) Heavy by Linkin Park**

 **...#4 (object) Jumper**

 **...#3 (dialogue) "Is that really the time?"**

 **...#3 (pairing) Remus/Sirius**

 **.Phantom of the Opera #9: (dialogue) "What are you afraid of?"**

 **.Sharing is Caring September (Trope: sharing a bed)#3: (character) Sirius**

 **.Amber's Attic #9: "I held you the way a boat holds water. I always felt us sinking."**

 **.Liza's Loves #1: Sirius (riches to rags)**

 **.Character Appreciation (Queenie)#28: hoping someone remembers**

 **.Book Club #1 (Adam):**

 **...(word) Schedule**

 **...(word) corrupted**

 **...(dialogue) "Please don't leave me unloved."**

 **.Lo's Lowdown #15: (dialogue) "Everything should be perfect, right? I should be happy now, but I'm not."**


	2. Build Yourself A New World

**This is, first and foremost, written for Ariana Waters to prove that a) I'm insane, and b) Never challenge me to do something unless you mean it. It's a long story, but the short version is that she insinuated that I couldn't do it... I, here, have a fifty prompt story. Right Now. You Are Reading It.**

 **Boom Baby.**

 **(I'm also so sleep deprived someone help me)**

 **.**

 **The musical quote this is inspired by (and the quote is also used as dialogue) is:** **"Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes." —Hamilton (Given to me by MoonytheMarauder1)**

 **.**

 **This was also written for the Hunger Games, round 3. Here are my prompts:**

 **(word) Haven**

 **(emotion) Guilt**

 **(dialogue) "It's the end of the world as we know it."**

 **(character) Regulus Black**

 **(pairing) James and Lily**

 **(weapon) Fire**

 **.**

 **All prompts are listed at the bottom of this fic. Including the two sources above, I have prompts from the Hogwarts (I'm a Slytherin) Writing Club, and three close friends.**

 **.**

 **Warnings: Dark. Very dark. Blood. Death. Murder. Swearing... Psychopathic tendencies? The genre is a cross between horror, tragedy, and angst? Hopefully that gives you an idea of how this is..**

 **Rating: M**

 **Word Count (excluding A/N): 4390**

* * *

 **Build Yourself A New World**

"Do you have to go?" Marlene asked Regulus, her eyes frantically scanning his features, looking for anything that told her he was staying—she couldn't find anything.

"You know I do," Regulus replied with a sigh before pulling his girlfriend into a hug. "I wish there was another way, but there isn't. This has to be done."

"And you can't tell me what you are doing?"

"You know I can't, Lena."

Marlene was quiet for a moment, and Regulus took the opportunity to breathe her in. She smelled sweet; it was cruel.

"Is this goodbye?" Her voice was timid, almost soft enough for Regulus to miss.

"I… I think so," he replied. "But, Lena… Death is not the end. It might not be in this world, but I will see you again."

She simply squeezed him tighter. He felt a vague dampness on his shirt, but he didn't move to wipe at her tears; he wasn't sure if he could handle seeing her beautiful face scrunched up in sadness, nor the fear that was bound to be in her perfect green eyes.

Their relationship had been hard from the very beginning—he was a Slytherin, destined to work for the Dark Lord, and she was an innocent, a Gryffindor, who didn't understand just how deep Regulus had been forced into the wrong side of the war.

They'd had to sneak around, and he was glad that she understood; it would not have been good for Regulus if his fellow Slytherins had found out he was dating someone from the side of the saints.

After they had been dating a year, Marlene graduated, and their communication was quickly limited to letters and brief trips to Hogsmeade, where they only met in the shadows.

Things had gotten easier when Regulus graduated from Hogwarts two years later. They could finally live together in peace. He kept it a secret that the Dark Lord was his boss, and she never pried when he came home late, injured with tears in his eyes. She just held him, and he loved her for it.

Now their peace would be interrupted, stopped for good.

...

It was sundown when he set out for the cave, taking Kreacher with him. He knew he should have felt some sort of anxiety, perhaps even overwhelming fear, but he just felt numb. Was this what it felt like to be brave? Or was this just him submitting to what he couldn't control?

He felt almost sedated as he lit up his wand, adding shadows to the walls of the cave, and for the briefest of moments, he wished that he had brought Marlene with him so she could save him from what he knew was to come. However, that thought passed quickly. This was something he had to do alone, lest he put her in unnecessary danger.

When he and Kreacher stepped onto the island, a spark of fear finally twisted in his chest. His eyes carefully surveyed the basin in the center that let off a slightly green hue, and he gripped his wand tighter.

"Master Regulus," Kreacher whispered, eyes wide. "Let me drink the potion. Let me—"

"Alright," Regulus interrupted, feeling immediate guilt pool in his stomach. Kreacher looked surprised, but, ultimately, relieved.

"Thank you, Master Regulus," the house-elf croaked, and Regulus had to close his eyes. What had he just agreed to? Why had he just agreed to it?

Pushing past his guilt, Regulus pulled two items out of his pockets: a replica of Slytherin's locket, and a potion with a thick paste at the bottom of the bottle—a replacement for the basin. The potion had been hell to make and perfect, but it would be even harder to get it into the basin after Regulus switched out the lockets without upsetting the settlement at the bottom.

"Are you ready, Master Regulus?" Kreacher asked, his thin shoulders shaking. Regulus nodded, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood when the house-elf began to drink and became visibly affected by the potion by the third gulp.

Soon, Kreacher's screams were almost too much for Regulus to handle, but he still helped to pour goblet full after goblet full of the offending potion down Kreacher's throat. After what seemed like forever, the basin was empty, and Regulus was free to grab the locket—the horcrux. He quickly deposited the replica locket in the basin and began to decanter the potion on top of it, barely emptying the bottle before Kreacher collapsed.

Had he been thinking properly, Regulus wouldn't have rushed to plunge the goblet into the lake, hoping water would help his house-elf, but panic dictated his actions. The water didn't help Kreacher, and there were things crawling out of the water, which Regulus instinctively identified as infari.

In his panic, and the flames he created to fight off the infari, Regulus left Kreacher's body to be burned.

...

Regulus was afraid that if he went back to his and Marlene's flat, the Dark Lord would hurt her, and he couldn't go back to work for the Dark Lord—he was afraid that Voldemort would be able to sense that a piece of his soul had been in contact with Regulus.

So he stayed away from the two things he knew and chased something he didn't know, but understood to be safe: James and Lily.

Together, the three of them, along with Dumbledore, figured out a way to transfer his Dark Mark to another creature. The rat they pawned the mark off on didn't make it through the the casting, and Regulus was left with a faded scar on his left forearm, his connection to Voldemort completely severed.

He had been pronounced dead within a week of the cave incident, and James and Lily's home quickly became a haven for him, a place of safety where he was allowed to live. When they went under the Fidelius Charm, Regulus went with them.

"It's the end of the world as we know it," James had said jokingly on the first night the charm was in place. His eyes had been sad, Lily's laugh had been empty, and Regulus had remained silent.

He should have been happy to be alive, grateful that James and Lily had taken him in, but his heart quickly turned bitter. James and Lily had each other; Marlene thought he was dead.

Sure, it might be keeping her safe, but resentment towards his protectors took over his mind, and his safe haven slowly turned into a prison.

...

Regulus was, embarrassingly enough, in the backyard retrieving Harry's dummy, which the child had thrown out the window, when Voldemort showed up.

He heard James shout, but by the time he had made it inside the house, James was lying in a lifeless heap at the bottom of the staircase. He knew he should have felt something when he saw that his 'friend' was dead, but no emotions came. Nor did they appear when he heard Lily scream, begging Voldemort to spare her son.

Out of instinct rather than sentiment, Regulus ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, but he knew he was too late when there was a flash of green light and a heavy thud. Once again, he felt nothing.

Harry was screaming when, at last, Regulus pushed into the room, satisfaction spreading through his veins when he saw the look of confusion that spread across Voldemort's face.

"You're supposed to be dead," Voldemort breathed, his brown eyes shifting from confusion, to recognition, to betrayal.

"Obviously I'm not," he said, finally feeling confident for the first time in a long time, despite the fact that he was face to face with a murderer.

"Why are you here?" Voldemort asked, turning completely away from Harry and towards Regulus. The younger wizard could almost see how strangely comfortable in his presence Voldemort was, and he wondered if it was maybe because the Dark Lord could feel his soul, on a subconscious level, in Regulus's pocket where he kept Slytherin's locket.

"Because I wanted to see your happy face." Regulus almost laughed at the expression of anger that danced over Voldemort's features. Being antagonizing after well over a year of playing domestics with the Potters was quite entertaining.

"Look at me. I'm not smiling," Voldemort said, and Regulus got the impression that it was his fault that Voldemort was unhappy—that the Dark Lord had recognized his disobedience and was giving him what could be his form of disappointment. It was amusing.

Regulus let out a light laugh. "You will be once you kill the boy, will you not?" he asked, gesturing to the still screaming boy.

Voldemort gave Regulus an empty grin. "Of course. I will be unstoppable."

"You know, Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes, and the fact that you are trying to avoid it, to remain permanent, just makes you a larger target," Regulus said. He was surprised that Voldemort hadn't attacked him by now, but he figured that the Dark Lord was intrigued.

Curiosity kills kittens. Regulus smirked. "You, my Lord, are meant to be temporary, just like all of us."

"Be quiet," Voldemort growled, turning back towards a crying Harry and raising his wand. "You're starting to annoy me. Wait silently until I have time to deal with you."

"Why don't you just kill me, my Lord?" Regulus asked, his voice low and his tone mocking. He saw Voldemort's shoulders stiffen, but the man didn't turn around.

"In due time," Voldemort said calmly, raising his wand towards Harry once more. "I have… more important matters to worry myself with at the moment."

Regulus scoffed—Voldemort obviously didn't see him as a threat, and that would be his biggest mistake.

Slowly, Regulus pulled Slytherin's locket out of his pocket, having gotten into the habit of carrying the thing around with him constantly when he couldn't figure out how to destroy it, and he leveled his wand at it. Quietly, still watching Voldemort's back with glinting eyes, he whispered the killing curse.

The scream that came from Voldemort rivaled the one that came from the locket, both sounds drowning out Harry's cries, and the chaos made Regulus grin. The Dark Lord had fallen to his knees—in front of Regulus.

After a while, with Voldemort on the ground and Regulus silently thanking the gods that the killing curse had worked, the Fallen Dark Lord turned to Regulus, his skin a few shades paler than usual. "You… You are—"

"Beautiful? A Genius? Immensely talented?" Regulus joked, mirth in his eyes.

"Dangerous," Voldemort whispered, eyes wide. Regulus's smirk grew.

"You sound surprised," Regulus taunted. Wordlessly, he bound Voldemort in ropes, feeling almost giddy when he saw the fear in the man's eyes as he flicked his wand, forcing Voldemort flat on his back. It had been so long since he had felt anything other than the boredom of being stuck with the Potter's and the resentment of being without Marlene—his dear sweet Lena that was far too innocent for a world that created a monster like Voldemort.

"That wasn't my only one," Voldemort said, panic evident in his voice. "You can't kill me, not for good."

"It doesn't matter," Regulus replied, his head cocked to the side, Harry's cries really starting to annoy him. Lazily waving his wand, he put a silencing spell over the crib, letting out a breath of relief before turning his attention back to Voldemort. "You see, with your physical being out of the way, I can step in. And, under my rule, no one will have the slightest desire to bring you back."

"Fuck you," Voldemort snarled, his eyes flashing, and Regulus rolled his eyes before muttering a dark curse, barely even blinking when the Fallen Dark Lord let out a howl of pain, blood gushing from the gash that appeared on his chest.

"For so long I pretended to be good, to be one of the innocents, but now—with you out of the way—I can be whatever the fuck I want to be. I get to turn this sorry excuse of a life I've been living; I get to rewrite my story," Regulus explained, his voice soft before flicking his wand again. This time, it was the muscle of Voldemort's right thigh that was severed.

"Was… Was that supposed to hurt?" Voldemort stammered in a desperate attempt to appear powerful. Between the soft whimpers pushing past his lips, the sweat dripping down his brow, and the pain in his eyes, Regulus wasn't impressed.

"Don't try to act brave. It's so typical and doesn't suit you," he replied, almost sounding bored as he gently kicked Voldemort's right foot, prompting a yelp from the wizard as blood began to flow out of his thigh at an increased rate.

"Tell me," Regulus said as he walked a little closer to Voldemort, squatting down beside him, gently touching his chest and coating his fingers in the Fallen Dark Lord's blood. "Do you feel cold yet?"

Voldemort didn't reply, just stared at Regulus with hatred in his eyes, prompting the younger wizard to chuckle.

"That's fine," Regulus said with a soft smile. "Don't answer. But, know this."

Regulus raised his wand, leveling it at Voldemort's throat. "Now your world is mine."

…

No one was sure whether or not to rejoice the fall of Voldemort, or to panic at the rise of a new threat. Only Dumbledore and the remaining marauders knew that Regulus was alive, so he set off to make quick work of them, finding Peter Pettigrew first.

"I don't know what you want from me," the young man whimpered, his eyes wide when Regulus had found and entered his hideout. "A servant? I could serve you. It would be my pleasure," he groveled.

It was disgusting.

While Regulus might not have minded a servant, he already knew Pettigrew to be disloyal, as he had been the secret keepers for the Potter's. So, he killed him just as slowly as he had killed Voldemort, relishing in the way the wizard screamed and begged for his life.

He found Dumbledore next. It wasn't hard; the old man never seemed to leave Hogwarts, so it was no surprise that when he apparated outside the front gates, he was quickly met by the headmaster, who had his trademark twinkle in his eye.

"I must say that I am surprised to see you here, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said kindly as he led Regulus through the halls he had traveled only a few years ago as a student. Regulus had once thought of the halls as a home safer than the one he grew up in; now he found the long corridors to be quite tiresome, keeping him from the goal he wished to achieve that night.

Regulus hummed softly, his eyes never once leaving Dumbledore's form. "I have urgent business to… settle with you," he said politely in return.

"Is there something you wish to discuss?" There was a curiosity in Dumbledore's voice that had Regulus rolling his eyes.

"Not discuss, headmaster," he corrected, his words clipped subtly in annoyance. "However, I would prefer it if we dealt with this matter behind closed doors."

"Of course," Dumbledore responded, sounding both dejected and interested all at once. He settled into silence for the rest of the walk, only looking back at Regulus when he led him into his office.

He sat down slowly, placing his elbows on the table and looking at Regulus over steepled fingertips. "Have a seat," he offered; Regulus shook his head.

"I assume you know what I have done," Regulus said calmly, declining an offered lemon drop with a slight wave of his hand. "And I assume you have figured out what I am going to do."

"Assumptions are a dangerous thing, Mr. Black," Dumbledore told him, a cautious smile on his lips. "You should not take the Potters' death too harshly. I must tell you that there is more than one way out, if at the end of the day you're at the end of your rope."

Regulus chuckled darkly. It seemed as if Dumbledore either misunderstood his intentions or was purposefully talking Regulus into another situation in order to change his mind for him. "That's a nice idiom, headmaster," he said, almost politely. "My current favorite is: you can't always control who walks into your life… but you can control which window you throw them out of." His tone was light, almost humorous. "Funny how they both relate to choice, eh?"

Dumbledore's smile slowly slipped from its place on his lips. "Which window do you intend to throw me out of, Mr. Black?" he asked, his voice unwavering. So, Dumbledore had understood his intentions after all. Regulus liked how he didn't immediately beg—he really hoped Dumbledore wouldn't beg at all.

"Not out a window, sir. I'd rather you bleed out atop your desk," he replied, quite amused by the whole situation.

His amusement, however, disappeared when Dumbledore reached for his wand.

Sighing, he waved his wand, and Dumbledore's wrists were bound to his chair, his wand now lying useless on the floor. He received the same treatment as Voldemort and Pettigrew, but he didn't scream, nor did he beg; he merely whimpered.

It was satisfying to watch such a strong man die such a strong death.

Out of everyone he was setting out to find, the one he wanted to join him the most was Remus. The werewolf had phenomenal power, and an even more brilliant mind—besides, Regulus had always had a sort of soft spot for him. Besides, if he could convince Remus to join him, he could probably convince Sirius as well; a love for Remus seemed to run in the family.

"Siri, about damn time you showed up. I've been waiting all day," Remus said as Regulus entered his bedroom, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the form in the bed. The werewolf only looked up from his book when 'Siri' didn't reply.

"Regulus?" he said, almost gasping the name. Regulus cocked his head to the side before casually walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge within touching distance of Remus.

"Hi Remus," Regulus said, sounding almost like a normal nineteen-year-old. He even smiled, not his commonplace, dark grin, but a genuine smile.

"Three people are dead, the only correlation between the murders is that each victim knew that you are alive," Remus stated, his eyes boring into Regulus's, and the younger wizard felt his smile grow.

"I love your brain," Regulus said simply, watching Remus closely. He had formed a bit of a friendship with the werewolf over the course of the last year—it was one of the closest relationships he had ever had, excluding Marlene of course.

"You know, I have always believed that it doesn't matter who you are or what you look like, so long as someone loves you," Remus said, his voice soft. Regulus was used to how Remus quickly changed the subject with no warning, and he simply let out a soft laugh.

The laughter died in his throat when Remus's eyes hardened. "I'm afraid you might not be loveable, Reg," he said. "You're here with the ultimatum 'join me or die,' correct?"

Regulus gripped his wand, anger surging through his chest. "You could choose to fight," Regulus muttered, the smile completely dropping from his face.

Remus simply laughed. He looked so content, it was almost maddening. "It's the day after a full moon, Reg. I can barely hold my book. I'm afraid you'll have to kill me."

Feeling his stomach drop, Regulus searched Remus's expression and posture for any hint that the werewolf might join him, but he found none. Finally, he raised his wand, aiming it at Remus's throat.

"Goodbye, Rem," he murmured before casting the same curse as he had on each of his previous victims.

Remus, unlike the others, was delivered a kill shot first; he died quickly.

His body had just stopped twitching when the front door to the apartment opened and shut relatively heavily. "I'm home, love," Sirius called from the main room. Regulus stood as he heard his brother's footsteps near the bedroom.

"I brought home some chocolate," Sirius said as he opened the door, a grin on his face. His expression of joy quickly dropped, along with the bag he had been holding, and he let out a scream filled with more pain than anything Regulus had ever heard.

"What the fuck have you done?" Sirius cried out, instantly in front of Regulus, gripping his shirt tightly, his arms trembling in anger and desperation.

"It's nice to see you too, brother," Regulus replied coolly, still a little shaken up from what he had done.

"You're not my fucking brother," Sirius seethed. "You're worthless."

"I… I know," Regulus replied, though his tone wasn't one of guilt or remorse, but more of curiosity. Sirius shoved him away hard enough to make Regulus trip and fall backwards, letting out a small noise of surprise.

By the time Regulus had stood up, Sirius was hunched over Remus's body, legs straddling his dead lover's hips, hands buried in tawny curls, and forehead resting on a blood-splattered chest. He was sobbing, the noise fascinating to Regulus.

The younger wizard almost wanted to keep Sirius alive so his brother could properly mourn the death of his beloved, but even that was too cruel for Regulus.

Silently, he raised his wand.

Sirius died just as quickly as Remus had.

…

No matter how many people he had heard screaming, the sound never ceased to delight Regulus. He felt himself slipping farther and farther into his bloodlust, and he knew he couldn't stop it, even if he had wanted to—which he didn't.

He figured that a scream coming from the lips of his lover would be just as beautiful as any he had heard previously, and he had heard many since the night he had killed his brother. Even the Muggle news was picking up on his movements. Like Death, he didn't discriminate in who he killed. Every single person he saw, he offered the same thing: join the ranks, or die. He spared no pleasantries, no mercy, dealing out death like he was its master.

However, when he settled himself onto Marlene's bed, and she walked into her room, she didn't scream. Her eyes widened, but she didn't scream.

It really was a pity.

"Did you… Did you climb through my window?" Marlene asked, almost surprised as her eyes shifted from the open window to Regulus. There were Anti-Apparition charms up all over her flat, so, yes, Regulus had climbed through her window. As her flat was on the third storey of the building, he'd had to use a broom. But, breaking into his old girlfriend's flat had been relatively easy.

"Dreadful etiquette, I know," Regulus said with a grin.

Marlene let out a soft laugh, though her eyes danced around the room as if she were looking for an escape or a weapon. Regulus simply smiled. "I missed this," he said softly, patting the edge of the bed. After a brief moment of hesitation, she complied, walking slowly, as if he were a wounded animal.

"I'm going off the deep end, you know," he said quietly, looking on at her with amusement in his expression. "And I'm just about to reach the best, the most powerful."

Marlene nodded a little awkwardly, finally sitting down beside him, ensuring that they didn't touch—what he had done was no secret. The entire world, both wizarding and Muggle, knew his name and feared it.

"For a while, I had forgotten what I was losing my mind about, but seeing you here right now, my dear sweet Lena, I realize that I became what I am because of you. Because you kissed me that night in the Astronomy tower, because you loved me even when I came home from an assignment the Dark Lord had given me, because you wouldn't leave my head or my worries all that time I was supposed to be dead."

Regulus watched as Marlene tensed up beside him, keeping her eyes to the floor. Gently, he grabbed her chin and turned her head so she was looking at him. "Are you afraid right now, my precious?" he asked softly. She shook her head.

"You don't scare me," she said softly. "I won't run from anyone."

Her voice was so soft, so sweet, and it drew a proper smile to Regulus's lips. "Ever my brave Gryffindor," he murmured softly. "You're too good for this world, Marlene. I'm here to take you from it."

Her breath caught in her throat, and Regulus's eyes gleamed. "That's probably a good thing," she whispered. "I would rather not live in a world full of death and destruction."

Regulus chuckled softly before shifting them both so she was lying properly on the bed and he was kneeling beside her. "This will hurt," he warned, his expression peaceful, glad that she didn't try to run; he liked sounds of pain, not chasing his victims.

When she didn't respond, he silently casted his favorite curse, and a gash appeared across her chest. She let out a cry, but it was more of a gasp than a scream. When he leaned over her, her green eyes ripe with tears, he smiled.

"Blood looks good on you, my dear," he murmured, cupping her cheeks and leaning down to press a slow kiss to her lips.

"Get out of my face," she said weakly, her eyes squeezing shut.

"But I like the view," he replied, eyes bright as he pulled away just enough to see all of her beautiful face in its pain-filled glory. She was breathtaking.

"Well, I don't," she murmured, her breath coming out in short spurts as tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. Regulus carefully wiped them off of her skin with the backs of his knuckles, each movement soft.

After drinking the sight of her in one last time, Regulus leaned down to press another slow kiss to her lips as he raised his wand to her throat. He murmured the curse, and warm blood splattered across him.

He kissed her until her lips were cold.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0:**

 **Here are my prompts:**

 **.**

 **Musicals: (Hamilton.. From MoonytheMarauder1) "Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes."**

.

 **The Hunger Games:**

 **(word) Haven**

 **(emotion) Guilt**

 **(dialogue) "It's the end of the world as we know it."**

 **(character) Regulus Black**

 **(pairing) James and Lily**

 **(weapon) Fire**

.

 **Writing Clubs:**

 **Ami's Audio: #9 (theme) Multiple people dying**

 **Lyric Alley #17:Turn it around, get a rewrite**

 **Count Your Buttons:**

 **#3 (song) Young and Menace**

 **#1 (item) Dummy/Pacifier**

 **#2 (character) Marlene Mckinnon**

 **#5 (word) Decant**

 **Book Club #8 Katherine van Leuwen:**

 **(dialogue) "Death is not the end."**

 **(plot point) Looking for someone**

 **(emotion) Fear**

 **(time) Sundown**

 **(word) Numbness**

 **Disney Challenge #1: (dialogue) "You don't scare me. I won't run from anyone."**

 **Showtime #10: (word) Goodbye**

 **Sharing is Caring September #4: (dialogue) "I've been waiting all day."**

 **Film Festival #21: (dialogue) "Be quiet. You're starting to annoy me."**

 **Dark Lady's Diabolical Lair #3: Dark!AU**

 **Lo's Lowdown #14: Write about someone who thinks they are better than everyone**

 **Bex's Basement #2: (dialogue) "It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like, so long as someone loves you."**

 **Angel's Arcade #11 Vector:**

 **(color) Green**

 **(word) Boss**

 **(house) Slytherin**

 **(trait) Confident**

 **Amber's Attic #1: Perhaps our fatal flaw is that we attempt to make forever out of people who are meant to be temporary.**

.

 **Friends:**

 **Ari (meme): "You can't always control who walks into your life… but you can control which window you throw them out of."**

 **Elizabeth:**

 **(dialogue) "I don't know what you want from me."**

 **(word) phenomenal**

 **(dialogue) "Did you—did you climb through my window?!"**

 **(dialogue) "There's more than one way out, if at the end of the day you're at the end of your rope." —Groundhog Day**

 **(dialogue) "Why are you here?" / "Because I wanted to see your happy face." / "Look at me. I'm not smiling."**

 **(dialogue) "Get out of my face." / "But I like the view." / "Well I don't."**

 **(dialogue) "You're worthless." / "I... I know."**

 **(plot point) Someone fakes a death**

 **Murder**

 **Wolfstar**

 **"You're too good for this world, [insert name]. I'm here to take you from it."**

 **Maddie:**

 **(dialogue) "Fuck you."**

 **(song) Sedated by Hozier**

 **(dialogue) "Do you feel cold yet?"**

 **(dialogue) "Was that supposed to hurt?"**

 **(dialogue) "I've missed this."**

 **(dialogue) "Now your world is mine."**

 **(dialogue) "You… you are" / "Beautiful, a genius, immensely talented." / "Dangerous."**

 **(dialogue) "Blood looks good on you, my dear."**


	3. Vanilla and Juniper Berries

**This was written for Hogwarts, where I am a Slytherin (hiss hiss): Assignment #5**

 **Dark Charms, task #7: Colloshoo: Write about two people stuck somewhere.**

 **This is also includes a bunch of other prompts (mainly from the writing clubs). You can find those listed after the fic.**

 **.**

 **More importantly, this is was inspired by the musical quote: "Can't help the itch to touch, to kiss, to hold him once again; now to close his eyes, never open them." from Spring Awakening. It was given to me by MoonytheMarauder1**

 **.**

 **I'm dying. So much homework. Help. Don't know why I wrote this today.**

 **.**

 **Real Short Summary: Sirius is gone, and James and Remus turn to the two things Sirius held most dear: each other.**

 **Warnings: Character death (not described), depression (implied), sex (implied), swearing (full blown said, my friend).**

 **Rating: High T, possibly M... I would say?**

 **Word Count: 1369**

* * *

 **Vanilla and Juniper Berries**

January, 1981

"This feels like a ripoff, doesn't it?" James whispered softly as he held Remus close to his chest, their sweaty bodies intertwined. His voice shattered the fragile state of peace that the two Gryffindors had created; they were always silent after fucking, aside from the quiet pants of exertion, and James's question threw off their balance. "Like… like we are both reaching for the biscuit tin, only to find that it's empty—not even a single biscuit for us to share."

Remus frowned, curling into himself just a little more. He understood what James was feeling, and maybe that's what hit him the most—something was missing, and neither of them could fix it.

"I know you feel it too, Rem." James's words were punctuated by a tight squeeze of his arms. Remus knew that James wasn't angry, but the accusation still hurt. They were supposed to leave this unvoiced; they were supposed to accept that what they truly wanted was impossible; they were supposed to pretend that they could fill the hole that Sirius had left in each of their souls by being with each other.

"I just can't help the itch to touch him… to kiss him, and to hold him again," Remus finally said, burying his nose in the crevice of James's chest, inhaling deeply—James smelled of sweat and Sirius's perfume—the warm scent of vanilla and juniper berries comforting him.

When James had first worn the perfume, roughly a month after the funeral, Remus thought that he was mocking him, but then the werewolf looked into his eyes and saw that they were red and puffy. Without saying anything, Remus pulled the shorter boy into a bone crushing hug; even though they wished it were, smelling like Sirius just wasn't enough.

James had worn the perfume ever since, and if anyone commented on the feminine smell, Remus would step in with a snarl.

"I miss him too," James said softly. His hand had traveled into Remus's hair and was now threading through the soft strands. "I… didn't know him the way you did."

Remus didn't like the uncertainty in James's voice, and he even pressed himself up into a seated position so he could look at his lover properly. "Don't, Jamie. You know you were so fucking important to him. Sure, maybe you didn't know his body like I did, but Jamie, you knew his heart. You were his brother, and he loved you."

When James turned his head to the side, his dark-brown eyes fixating on something that Remus couldn't see, the werewolf let out a sigh. "Jamie, please," he murmured, slipping his slender fingers underneath James's chin and turning it gently so he could look James in the eye.

James was crying. Or, at least, he looked like he was about to cry. His eyes were puffy and red, and his face was pale and splotchy. "I feel so… so ugly," he whispered after a moment of silence. "I am so desperate to keep Siri with me that I—"

"No one who is good can ever be ugly," Remus interrupted, his voice almost hard; his touch on James's face remained soft.

James closed his eyes, and Remus carefully wiped a tear that was running down the side of the smaller boy's face.

"I'm taking advantage of you, Rem. You deserve to move on." James's voice was pained, but he still managed to get all of the words out as he tried to move his head to the side again—Remus held his chin firmly in place.

"I can't move on, Jamie," Remus whispered softly, leaning down to press a slow kiss to James's lips. It was a sweet kiss, careful, unlike so many they had shared, and Remus felt James let out a soft sob.

"I need you, Jamie." Remus's lips were still against James's, and he felt the smaller boy finally relax completely underneath him. "If you're taking advantage of me, then I'm guilty too."

"Please don't leave me," James said with a whimper, his hands shakily moving up to cup Remus's cheeks.

Remus gave a tiny nod of his head. "I never could," he whispered before kissing him once more, the sensation so different, and yet so similar, to that of kissing Sirius. Remus almost hated it, but he couldn't stop himself from craving the way he and James comforted each other.

 **.**

August, 1978

Remus kneeled in front of the newly erected tombstone, his worn out jeans darkened by dirt. His body was starting to cramp, and he was horribly sore from spending the last three days exactly like this, but he still didn't move; he couldn't move.

"You should eat something." Remus heard the soft voice behind him, knowing who it was, but didn't turn around. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Sirius's engraved name.

"Not hungry," he told James, shivering slightly, ignoring his stomach as it grumbled at the mere thought of food. He had tried eating the day the Sirius died, merely five days prior, but had immediately thrown up—he hadn't swallowed a single bite since.

"Rem, please. You know he wouldn't want you to be out here like this," James whispered, stepping up to the werewolf's side, and Remus felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He had the urge to shake it off, but found even the thought of doing so to be too exhausting.

"How do you know?" Remus asked softly. He felt like crying again, but he had sobbed himself dry two days ago, and hadn't dropped a tear since.

"I guess I don't know for certain," James admitted softly. "We never explicitly talked about it, but Sirius is… was my brother. We always tended to want the same things."

Remus shut his eyes tight, dropping his head and leaning ever so slightly into James. At the movement, James bent down, took Remus's hands, and pulled him up. Remus was shaky on his feet, exhaustion and hunger making him weak, but James held him close.

The pair of them started to walk away, Remus dragging his feet slightly, only stopping when they reached the edge of the graveyard. Remus turned to James, murmuring his thanks, before there was something more than words on his lips.

The kiss was gentle, but horribly desperate, and Remus had half a mind to shove James away and chastise him for taking advantage of his sorry state. However, the other half of his mind understood that maybe, just maybe, James understood what he was feeling, and maybe this kiss was just as comfortingly painful for James as it was for Remus.

 **.**

September, 1993

"Remember, Siri Lynn," Remus said to his eleven-year-old girl as she bounced around on the balls of her feet, her dark eyes scanning the Hogwarts Express with glee. "Don't go judging people until you know what's in their hearts."

Siri nodded, her eyes briefly flickering to her dad before flitting around the platform again. She had been excited to go to Hogwarts from day one, and her time was finally here.

"Exactly," James cut in, placing his hand on the girl's shoulder. "Your namesake looked—"

"Ugh, you can go ahead and let me drown now," Siri interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I know that Sirius looked like an idiot. You don't have to remind me all the time! I'd way rather hear about how he acted like an idiot."

James chuckled. "That's my girl," he said softly, pulling her into a hug. "Go make us proud, okay?"

Siri nodded. "Don't worry, dads. I'll behave just like you raised me to."

After saying their final goodbyes, Remus turned to James and pulled him into a gentle kiss, letting himself relax into the feeling of his husband. There were times when both of them thought that they should try and move on, leave each other and Sirius behind, but then something more began to grow—they had convinced themselves that what they felt was real.

Deep down, though, they knew it was pretend; they understood that they were just too weak to do anything other than cling to the last bit of Sirius that they had.

So, they clung to each other and the reminiscent scent of vanilla and juniper berries.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0:**

 **Writing Club Prompts:**

 **Disney Challenge Character #6: Write about someone who wants the impossible**

 **Trope of the Month #2: (word) Ripoff**

 **Showtime #5: (word) Sensation**

 **Amber's Attic #2: Sometimes I'm the mess, sometimes I'm the broom. On the hardest days, I have to be both**

 **Count Your Buttons Object #5:Biscuit Tin**

 **Lyric Alley #24: You get a feeling, or at least you can pretend**

 **Sophie's Shelf #31: Remus/James**

 **Lo's Lowdown #21: (dialogue) "You can go ahead and let me drown now."**

 **Bex's Basement #5: (dialogue) "No one who is good can ever be ugly."**


	4. The Storm Will Grow

**This was written for Hogwarts, where I am a Slytherin (hiss hiss): Assignment #6**

 **Astronomy, Task #3: Write a story set on a snowy winter day/night.**

 **.**

 **So, here's the deal. This was written from another quote given to me by MoonytheMarauder1 (she seriously has the best taste in musicals ever, omg I love her so much). It's a quote from Dear Evan Hansen: "I never let them see the worst of me."**

 **So there is that.**

 **.**

 **This also has other prompts involved. They are all down at the bottom of the fic.**

 **.**

 **Summary: Mulling decisions over on a cold winter night seemed like a good idea to Peter until Malfoy showed up. Now he's just waiting for the storm to get out of control.**

 **Warnings: None, really... I don't think. Wow.. I wrote something that doesn't need warnings that isn't straight fluff? fascinating.**

 **Rating: Somewhere between K+ and T (for slight makout type kisses)**

 **Word Count (without A/N): 1492 (I love this number!)**

* * *

 **The Storm Will Grow**

Peter was solemn as he watched the snow fall, pulling his school robes tighter around him. He shouldn't be out of bed—after seven years at Hogwarts, he obviously knew this—but he didn't care. Why should he care? There were only a few months left of school, and Peter had gotten in more trouble in the last seven years than anyone could possibly imagine; losing a few points for being out past curfew was no big deal.

His hands were frozen, as was his nose, but that wasn't a surprise considering the fact that he was standing at the edge of the Astronomy Tower on a cold—very cold—December night.

He just really needed to think some things through.

"Out past your bedtime, I see." A cold voice pierced the small moment of peace Peter had found, and it sent shivers down his spine. He immediately turned around, his eyes landing on someone he wasn't expecting to see—at Hogwarts especially. Maybe in Diagon Alley; maybe on the battlefield; hell, maybe even at the Dark Lord's right hand, but not at Hogwarts.

"Malfoy," Peter said with a curt nod, taking a moment to observe Lucius. His long hair was pulled into a relatively high ponytail, and he was wearing a sleek pair of black robes with a dark-purple clasp. Seeing color on Malfoy was almost shocking, but Peter had to admit that the wizard pulled off purple quite well.

"Peter… Pettigrew. Am I correct?" The gleam in Lucius's eye told Peter that the older wizard knew he was right; he only asked to display the power he held over Peter. "When did you get so tall?"

It was a simple question—it had merit, even, as Peter had awkwardly shot up in the last two years, placing him just a couple of inches shorter than Remus—but it made Peter uncomfortable. Lucius was dangerous, and having him recognizing something as small as height differences was terrifying.

"You've been gone a while," Peter said, his throat feeling scratchy.

Back when he was still in school, Lucius had invisibly tormented Peter through the use of Legilimency. Peter had always known that it was because of Lucius that he could never forget about his past and his family, but he had been powerless to stop him. The Pettigrews were blood purists, and Lucius knew that Peter was weak, despite his house and friends. There hadn't been a day while Lucius was around that Peter wasn't reminded of his family's secrets and his own weaknesses.

"Did you miss me?" Lucius asked, an amused smirk dancing on his lips as he slowly walked to Peter's side, leaning his forearms on the railing.

"Do you ever feel afraid?" Peter asked instead of answering Lucius's question, his eyes trained steadfastly on the older wizard. Lucius kept his gaze on the falling snow.

"My mother says I shouldn't entertain stupidity," the blonde said softly, finally turning to look at Peter, his grey expression relatively blank. Peter felt goosebumps raising up on his skin when Lucius slowly lifted a hand to touch Peter's cheek.

"What a lame response," Peter whispered, blinking quickly. Part of him wanted to run away; part of him wanted to stand his ground. Another part of him, still, wanted to lean into Lucius's touch.

"Ask a stupid question and you'll get a stupid answer," Lucius replied, his lips quirking up into his trademark smirk once more. His fingers were still on Peter's cheek. "Now… out with it, my cowardly Gryffindor. Say what's on your mind. Tell me why you're here."

"Why are you here at Hogwarts?" Peter asked, biting his lip. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Lucius.

"Ministry business," Lucius replied curtly before he relaxed his stance and cupped Peter's cheek. The action was gentle enough to soothe Peter, but it was a dangerous kind of comfort, almost like a drug. "But, that's not what's bothering you. Tell me."

"I'm scared," the Gryffindor finally admitted, closing his eyes and giving in to his desire to lean into Lucius's hand, tilting his head just slightly into the odd warmth that the older wizard brought.

"Of what?" Lucius asked. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, but Peter couldn't bring himself to care.

He took a deep breath before responding. "You."

When Lucius chuckled darkly, Peter shook his head and took a step back, keeping his eyes trained on the Malfoy. "Not just you. I'm scared of Him too… and the war."

"Everyone is scared of Him," Lucius said. For once, Peter thought he looked sincere, but the glimmer of honesty was soon masked by Lucius's smirk. "I take it you've been offered a… job?"

"Regulus approached me this morning," Peter admitted, looking away. Soon, however, he felt Lucius's hand on his cheek. But, this time, it was a lot harder, his fingers digging into Peter's skin painfully as he forced the younger wizard to look up at him.

It was almost painful.

"And yet you're here, out in the bitter cold without so much as a warming charm to keep you warm," Lucius said, his eyes gleaming. "You can't decide, can you… if you're going to refuse the Dark Lord or not?"

Peter shivered, his teeth tugging nervously at his bottom lip before he slowly nodded. "The light… my friends—" Peter trailed off, closing his eyes. He felt Lucius tighten his grip. "They need me. I'm needed here. I—"

"We need you too," Lucius interrupted, his voice hard for a moment before softening as he said: "I need you."

A small gasp would have left Peter's lips if Lucius hadn't swallowed it in a kiss. Like his hands, Lucius's lips were warm—hot even—and they burned Peter. He was so lost in what could almost be described as pain that he didn't notice Lucius had pulled away.

"Your friends," Lucius murmured, his voice oddly soothing as he gently stroked Peter's cheek, his painful grip subsiding. "They don't know the real you. You can pretend for them, Peter, but you can't lie to me. I know the darkest parts of your soul"

Both wizards were still for a moment, the only movement coming from the falling snowflakes as the storm slowly started to pick up, but then Peter sighed and turned his head so his lips rested in Lucius's palm. "You're right. I… I never let them see the worst of me," he whispered softly.

Peter didn't have to look at the older wizard to know how smug he was, and he felt his heart drop—it truly was a dark night for his soul. Dark, and cold, and dreary, and— Lucius kissed him again, cutting off all of his thoughts because Lucius was dark, cold, and dreary too, but he was also bright and ethereal, and his kisses burned.

Instead of pulling away after a few seconds, like last time, Lucius deepened the kiss, forcing Peter to turn as he pinned the Gryffindor against the railing. It was desperate and needy, and Peter knew it wasn't real, but he didn't care—he wanted this.

"Say yes," Lucius breathed, moving from Peter's lips to his jaw.

Peter felt a soft sound leaving his lips, but he didn't take notice of it; he just tilted his chin up, his eyes open and watering as he looked up, watching the snowflakes fall. If it weren't for the enchantments placed around the Astronomy Tower, he would be covered in them—buried in the cold—and he knew that he deserved to die cold and buried under something that should be beautiful.

But, he also deserved the burn he felt each time Lucius pressed his lips to his skin.

"Accept the Dark Lord's offer," Lucius commanded, nimble fingers pushing Peter's robes off of his thin shoulders; the dark material caught around Peter's forearms, refusing to fall to the ground as Peter clutched onto Lucius's robes.

The older wizard began kissing down the column of Peter's throat, working the buttons of his white shirt. Soon, Peter was bare-chested with extensive amounts of material pinning his arms to his sides.

Lucius kept kissing lower, bringing heat to Peter's chest; the Gryffindor was both frozen and burning at once, and it was agony.

"Take the Mark," Lucius pleaded at last, and Peter closed his eyes.

He knew, of course he knew, that Lucius wasn't here by choice, but as the Dark Lord's tool—a means to an end. He knew, but he didn't care. For as long as Peter could remember, Lucius had held something over him, and this burning moment in time was tearing away at the last of his resolve.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to the storm above him. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll do it."

Lucius made a sound of relief, but didn't stop his actions, just continued to kiss Peter's skin. Even though he knew this moment was going to end, and that Lucius was going to drop him the second he took the Mark, Peter let it happen.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0:**

 **Autumn Seasonal Challenge:**

 **\- Day: September 28th 2018 - Ask a Stupid Question Day: Use the dialogue "Ask a stupid question and you'll get a stupid answer."**

 **\- Autumn Prompt: (dialogue) "I'm scared." / "Of what?" / "You."**

 **\- Color: Dark Purple**

 **\- Birthstone: Citrine - (dialogue) "My mother says I shouldn't entertain stupidity."**

 **\- Flower: Witch Hazel - (word) Soothe**

 **\- Air Element: (word) Gasp**

 **\- Audrey's Dessert: (Frosting) Peppermint: "When did you get so tall?"**

 **\- Ravenclaw Prompts: (Location) Astronomy Tower**

 **\- Astronomy: (word) Frozen**

 **.**

 **Writing Club:**

 **\- Showtime #6: (dialogue) "We need you too."**

 **\- Lyric Alley #18: Call it a dark, night of the soul**

 **\- Lo's Lowdown #1: (theme) Good vs. Evil**

 **.**

 **Slash September: Peter**


	5. Even The Brightest Stars Can Be Dimmed

**Weeeellll**

 **Good news... I'm not dead... and I can sorta walk again. I love it.**

 **.**

 **This was written for Hogwarts, where I am a Slytherin (hiss hiss), Assignment #7: Magical and Mundane Literature Task #1: Write about someone imprisoned for something they didn't do (restriction, it can't be Sirius thrown in Azkaban for the canon reason)**

 **.**

 **The quote this is inspired by is: "We start with stars in our eyes," from Dear Evan Hansen... It was given to me by MoonytheMarauder1 (love her to pieces!)**

 **.**

 **This also has a few other prompts used. Those are listed at the end of the fic.**

 **.**

 **Summary: Each life in Remus's life was taken out, one by one, until he was left with only one** **—his brightest star. When that light is threatened, Remus is at a complete loss.**

 **Warnings: Gore, bit o' violence, depression, and a bit o' language. I think that is all.**

 **Rating: High T**

 **Word Count (excluding A/N): 1760**

* * *

 **Even The Brightest Stars Can Be Dimmed**

Remus started with stars in his eyes.

Everything was bright and beautiful; however, one by one, each light was overpowered by the darkness of the world.

The first light to be taken wasn't even a star: it was the moon. More than that, though, it was the promise the moon held. He was only a child, so he didn't quite understand how much he was losing, but he would never be able to walk hand in hand with his partner under the cream light of the full moon, nor would he be able to watch it's reflection ripple in the Black Lake.

The cycle of the moon turned from something of life and love into a more sinister promise of pain and destruction.

The second light to be taken was as good as a star to him; Hope Lupin died of a muggle disease called cancer, taking away the soft, accepting touch of a mother from Remus.

After that, he lost the hope for the future; he lost the comforts of home; he lost the desire to search for beauty in the world.

When Albus approached him, begging him to live among werewolves, become a spy for the side of the light, he agreed in hopes of making new stars for himself by doing good things.

He was discovered after a few months and barely made it out alive, ending up being stripped of any chance of living with his own kind.

Remus had one light left, the brightest star in the sky, but then that was snuffed out as well, and Remus was left in complete darkness.

…

Remus slipped the key into the lock, grocery bags hanging awkwardly off his arms as he struggled to get his hands to work. It was the morning after the full moon, one that he had spent alone, and he was sore; shopping had not been fun, but it was necessary. Normally, Sirius transform into Padfoot and help him through the full moon, as James couldn't due to being in hiding, and Peter couldn't because he was on an assignment for Dumbledore, but Sirius had been recovering from a case of the Dragon Pox, and Remus had managed to convince him to stay in bed.

A soft curse and a few moments later, the door swung open.

"Love, I'm home. You feeling any better?" he called, setting the keys down and rearranging his bags so they were easier to hold.

He and Sirius had been living together in a small flat in Muggle London ever since Remus had been outed by the werewolves, and it was a comfortable enough life that they had. Sure, they were on the brink of war and their friends were in hiding, but they had each other.

It took him a moment, during which he kicked off his shoes and aligned them near the door with his toes, but he came to his senses.

Or, more precisely, his senses overwhelmed him.

Particularly his sense of smell.

"Siri?" Remus called, his face pulling into a frown. He smelled blood, the sickly sweet stench piercing through his post-transformation headache. This wasn't entirely uncommon with Sirius—he was horrible in the kitchen—most attempts to chop or dice in the Muggle way ended up with blood. Once, he had even chopped off his entire pointer finger; Remus was thankful that he had taken the time to learn healing spells from Madam Pomfrey. "You alright love?"

Sirius didn't answer him, but that also wasn't uncommon; Remus's boyfriend liked to downplay any and every injury of his, telling Remus that complaining wasn't even an option when he couldn't even imagine the pain that Remus went through with each transformation. Remus suspected that when he went into the kitchen, Sirius would be sitting on the floor, holding his seeping hand with a goofy smile and an apology on his lips.

He wasn't.

Grocery bags dropped to the floor as Remus stepped into the kitchen, his eyes landing on the most horrifying scene.

What looked to be the Remus's maroon jumper lay scattered in gruesome tatters around the kitchen—a soaked strip was draped over the faucet of the kitchen sink, slowly dripping into the stainless-steel bowl below. A knife, with mangled blood and fur, was sticking out of one of the cabinets.

Remus vaguely noticed that there were claw marks, both human and inhuman, but he didn't bother examining them—all he cared about was finding Sirius… if he is still alive.

The werewolf shook his head, not willing to go down that path. He needed to stay strong; his Siri might still be alive, and if he was, he would need help.

Swallowing hard, Remus carefully stepped through the puddles of blood, trying not to focus on the way it was smeared as if by a thrashing body that was being dragged by a leg. Remus didn't even notice when a few drops of his tears joined the spilled life-force of his beloved as he drew his wand and advanced—he was terrified of what he would find.

When he rounded the corner into the living space, he immediately doubled over and emptied the few contents of his stomach. Sirius had been mutilated; Remus couldn't even begin to take in all the details. Skin was flayed, muscle exposed—had it not been for the subtle rise of Sirius's chest, Remus would have immediately assumed the worst and turned his wand on himself.

As it was, all he could manage to do was shoot up red sparks, the thing one did at Hogwarts when met with trouble, before he lost consciousness. The last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was the oozing, deep bite mark on what was left of his dying star's shoulder.

…

Remus stared at the cuffs binding his wrists together—half of him knew that they didn't belong on him, but the other half couldn't bring himself to care.

"They're out for your blood, Moony," Peter said, pacing the holding cell they held Remus in. He had been in the small room for the past forty-eight hours, not talking to a single person, simply caught in the vivid image of his bloody kitchen, fearing what might come next.

Everyone thought it was him that attacked Sirius, and he wasn't sure if he was going to bother correcting them.

Angry hands slammed down on the table beside Remus, making him jump. "I know what you are doing, Moony. Don't you dare!" Peter shouted, and Remus finally looked up for the first time since his friend had come into the room. The once slightly-pudgy boy now looked so grown up and tired, with dark circles shadowing his eyes and uneven stubble littering his thinning face. "Don't you fucking dare retreat into yourself when they are blaming you for this. He needs you, Remus. You can't help him if you are locked away somewhere."

He wanted to tear his eyes away from the foggy-blue eyes of his friend, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "I don't belong here, Pete," he whispered softly, blinking rapidly as his eyes began to burn. He had never been a fan of crying, but it seemed as if he couldn't control himself.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "That's exactly what I'm trying to—"

"No," Remus interrupted, his voice heavy with desperation. His stomach twisted painfully, and he vaguely wondered if he would have thrown up again if he had eaten anything more than two pieces of bread in the last few days. "I don't belong here… with you or—or Siri. I'm not… I… It's my fault."

He watched as confusion clouded Peter's eyes. "But—" he started, gently touching Remus's arm. His face fell when Remus jerked away. "I know you, Moony. I know you wouldn't allow yourself to be anywhere near him during your transformations."

"That doesn't matter, Pete," Remus said, his voice strained, his eyes landing back on his shackled wrists. He wanted, so desperately, to run his fingers through his knotted curls—it was a nasty habit, but one he had lived with for a long time. "You don't understand. I'm afraid to close my eyes, and I'm afraid to open them—no matter what I do, I see him. I see him lying there covered in his blood, and I know exactly what he is going to have to live with."

Remus was silent for a moment, feeling exhausted and terrified. He wanted to be with his Sirius; he wanted to go after the bastard that had done this; he wanted to give up. "I put him in danger by living with him. I fucking condemned Sirius to a life of misery and… and pain."

"Remus. You're kidding yourself. This isn't your—" Peter started to argue, determination in his eyes, but the cell door banged open and effectively cut the wizard off. Five Aurors entered into the room, flanking Remus and releasing his hands from their imprisonment only to shackle them behind his back.

"Remus Lupin," a stately looking Auror said as Remus was forced to his feet. "You have confessed to the attack against Sirius Black and are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban. Any attempt at retaliation will be met with force, so I implore you to come with us quietly."

The Aurors were not easy on Remus as they pushed him out of the cell and towards Merlin-knows-where, but Remus let them push him around. He had absolutely no intention of fighting them, but he heard Peter trying to.

"You're just going to ship him off to fucking Azkaban without a fair trial? What the hell? He isn't the attacker. He's no criminal!" Remus closed his eyes as he heard Peter yelling at the Auror.

"Pettigrew, calm down or I'll be forced to detain you," the Auror said. "He confessed, and with Voldemort at large, we don't have time to investigate further. If you have concrete evidence, by all means, show me. If not? Stop wasting my time."

"Moony," Peter said, running into Remus's line of vision, his eyes wide and blurry with unshed tears—it almost compelled Remus to say something… to fight back. "Tell them. Tell them it wasn't you. Remus please."

Remus just shook his head, knowing he couldn't go back to Sirius now that his light had been dimmed against his will—he couldn't live beside Sirius knowing that it was because of him that his beloved had been targeted.

"Peter," he said softly, swallowing hard before letting a slight smile tug at his lips. "If you see Sirius, tell him I love him."

* * *

 **A/N 2.0: Prompts**

 **.**

 **Autumn Seasonal: \- Autumn Prompt: (word) Vivid - Audrey's Dessert: (frosting - dialogue) "Don't you dare!" . Gris gris bag: (color) Maroon . Writing Club: \- Cookie's Crafty Corner #6: (object) Knife - Count Your Buttons Object #1: Knife - Lyric Alley #12: I don't belong here - Sophie's Shelf #18: (dialogue) "I'm afraid to close my eyes, and I'm afraid to open them." - Bex's Basement #6: Write about someone becoming a werewolf (can't be canon) - Film Festival #23: (dialogue) "If you see [name], tell him I love him." **


	6. How We Lived

**This is written for two things. Firstly, I wrote it for the HPFC challenge, The Dating Grounds, put together by my lovely wifey. My date is Regulus Black. I took him to #12 Grimmauld Place, aka his home, aka where 80% of this fic plays out (the rest is at... dun dun dun... Hogwarts!).**

 **.**

 **This was also written using a musical theatre quote for Elizabeth. The quote is, "I love you, I - loved - you. I loved you." from If/Then.**

 **.**

 **I have... three work shifts tomorrow. The first one starts at 4 am. The last one ends at 2 or 3 am. I'm honestly not sure. It's gonna be... fun though.**

.

 **Rating: M**

 **Warnings: Child abuse, bad home life, torture, mention of scars, major character death. I think that about sums it up. I haven't written a fic this heavy in what feels like a long time. Weird.**

 **Word Count: 2911**

* * *

 **How We Lived**

Age 7: Summer

Regulus glanced sideways at his brother, the older boy standing with his chest puffed out and his hands balled into fists. Sirius looked like he was about to refuse his father. Regulus hoped he didn't. Things didn't turn out well when Sirius talked back.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what he did.

"I won't do it," Sirius said, his eyes full of fire as Orion held out a wand to him. Sirius was only eight, but the Blacks trained all of their children in magic as soon as they started doing magic accidentally. Sirius had been training since he was four.

Orion snarled, making Regulus jump a little. He hated that sound coming from his father. It meant bad things were going to happen.

"Don't test me, Sirius," Orion said, jabbing the wand closer to the older boy, his voice dark and dangerous. "I expect you to do as you are told."

Sirius stubbornly folded his arms, shaking his head. "I won't," he repeated. He would have sounded insolent if he were complaining about eating vegetables. Regulus certainly thought he was being unnecessarily rude to their father—didn't he understand that if he was good, he would get hurt less?

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment as Orion surveyed Sirius. Finally, he retracted the wand, adjusting it in his hand, before pointing it at Regulus. "Alright then," he said, his voice deadly calm as he stared at Sirius, "then I will do it."

Regulus looked up questioningly at his father, but saw no answers in his face. He had barely turned to Sirius, eyes widening at the fear displayed on his brother's features, before he heard his father mumble something.

Then he collapsed down to his knees, indescribable pain coursing through his body. He thought that Sirius might have screamed, but maybe it was just his own voice that he was hearing. He blacked out before he could find out.

…

Age 10: Autumn

When Sirius was finally old enough to go to Hogwarts, Regulus was almost relieved. He would never say it out loud—he loved his brother with all of his heart, after all—but without Sirius there to test their parents, Regulus actually believed things would be better.

Oh how very wrong he was.

It had only been a few hours since they, as a family, dropped Sirius off at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and things were already worse than ever. It was all Regulus could do to keep his wand straight, his hands were shaking so much.

He was confused, too. While Sirius was here, their parents consistently said that Regulus was the better son, the son that they wished Sirius would be. But now that he was gone?

"You're brother could do this curse with ease," Orion snapped, his hand gripping Regulus's shoulder so tightly that there was sure to be finger-shaped bruises there in the morning. "He may be insolent, but at least he's not a dimwit like you."

Regulus's hands shook, and he leveled his wand. "Crucio," he breathed, pointing towards the caged spider on the table in front of him. The spider twitched, but was more or less unaffected.

The grip on his shoulder tightened. "Again."

"Crucio," Regulus begged. He hated the Unforgivable, but what else could he do? He couldn't refuse his father—he knew how that ended.

The spider didn't even twitch. Regulus felt his father's nails digging into his skin.

So he tried one more time, building up as much hatred as he could towards the curse, towards his father, towards the spider.

Towards Sirius.

But when the curse left his lips, he realized it wasn't enough. The spider was fine, but Regulus knew that he wouldn't be.

Orion released his grip on Regulus, shoving him away and stealing the wand from his grasp. "Go see your mother," he commanded, looking disappointed. "She will deal with you accordingly."

Regulus paled, but nodded. He would rather Orion punish him, as he generally used the Cruciatus—it seemed to be his favorite curse. Walburga's punishments left scars. Regulus hated those scars.

Knowing better than to talk back, he turned on his heal and began his search for his mother, his trembling hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes.

…

Age 10: Winter

When Regulus finally managed to make the spider curl in on itself, writhing in agony, he smiled. Even if it were for just one night, he was safe.

…

Age 11: Summer

It was the middle of the night when Sirius snuck into Regulus's room. Regulus simply stared at his older brother, not moving from his spot on his bed.

Sirius took that as an invitation to step deeper into the room. Within seconds, he was sitting on the edge of Regulus's bed. Regulus didn't stop staring at him. He didn't smile either, or scooch to the side to allow Sirius to slip in beside him. He just… stared.

Things had been different ever since Sirius had returned from school. Sirius was more headstrong than ever, and Regulus was colder and more distant. What used to be a relationship built on surviving together had turned into something hostile—almost as dangerous as their family situation.

"You don't have to listen to them, you know," Sirius said after a few minutes, his eyes on the book in Regulus's lap: Curses That Leave No Trace. It was an easy read—an introduction to dark magic. "You should listen to what your heart tells you. I remember… you have a good heart, Reggie."

Regulus marked his page and set the book on his bedside table. After another moment's worth of silence, he scooted over to the side, giving Sirius room. His older brother acted immediately, slipping under the sheets of the bed and tugging Regulus close, just like he used to. Regulus closed his eyes. He wanted to listen to his heart. He wanted to be like Sirius.

"Listen to your head," he whispered, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling. "Heart gets you in trouble," his voice was shaking just slightly, "head is your friend."

Sirius didn't respond, but Regulus knew that he had heard him. Sirius knew that he could survive on his heart, but no matter how good Regulus's heart was, it was too weak to carry him through.

…

Age 13: Autumn

Regulus had nightmares almost every night when he went off to school. To be perfectly honest, he had been having them for years—as long as he could remember—but they had gotten worse. Maybe it was because he was free from the direct hold of his parents.

Or maybe it was because he knew that his parents had allies everywhere, and he wasn't even safe here at school.

He had learned how to silence the area around his bed many years ago, and adopted the same techniques at Hogwarts. It worked for a while.

Until it didn't.

It was in his third year that his enchantments finally failed. His nightmares had been growing stronger with the threat of the new war, and the pressure from his family and social circle to join the wrong side of it. They had grown so strong that he was throwing off bits of accidental magic while he slept.

On a cold night in October, the entire Slytherin house was startled out of their sleep by Regulus's piercing scream. He didn't cry out any words or names. He didn't beg. He just screamed like he was under the Cruciatus. The scream slowly melted down into a sob. By that point, Rabastan Lestrange, one of Regulus's dorm mates, had thrown up a silencing spell of his own.

No one comforted Regulus. No one woke him up. The incident was never mentioned. Regulus hadn't even known his enchantments had failed.

Until they failed again.

The second time Regulus's scream was heard throughout the dungeons, only three days later, Rabastan was quicker to react. He sprung out of his own bed, wand in hand, and quickly silenced the area around Regulus's.

"Go back to sleep," he told his two other dorm mates. Neither one of them responded properly—they simply did as they were told. They didn't care enough to remain awake.

Rabastan didn't exactly care, but he couldn't ignore the pain that Regulus was clearly feeling. Setting his wand on his bedside table, he inched closer to Regulus's bed, pulling back the curtain and frowning when he saw his fellow Slytherin.

Regulus was still screaming, silently to the rest of the world, but plenty loud to Rabastan. His hair was slick, stuck to his sweaty skin, and is face was flushed. Tears streamed from his eyes. He was still asleep.

A little unsure of what he was even trying to do, Rabastan slowly slid into the bed next to Regulus, not fully laying down. He had seen his father comfort his mother on a few occasions, though they were rare, and tried to think of how his father did it.

He didn't say anything, only shifted so he was sitting against the headboard and gently rearranged Regulus so he was laying in Rabastan's lap. Timid fingers ran through damp hair, and slowly Regulus began to relax.

When Regulus woke up the next morning, Rabastan asleep in his bed and still holding Regulus close, he flushed a dark red.

Neither boy said anything about it, but they never slept alone after that. Rabastan was always there to keep the terrors of the night away.

…

Age 15: Summer

Regulus knew that Sirius would leave one day, but he didn't expect that day to come so soon.

He had been acting out more than normal, spelling Gryffindor banners and posters of Muggle girls and bikes to the walls of his room. Sirius was so good with spellwork, so brilliant, that the wall decorations were impossible to remove. Regulus was told to do it, and when he failed, he was punished.

Sirius had also been dyeing his hair different shades every week, angering their mother to no end, and had even begun to litter his body with Muggle ink. Regulus honestly thought it was cool and expressive, but he would never say such things to his parents.

But then Sirius left.

Sirius left Regulus behind to fend for himself. Sure, he had offered to take Regulus with him, but Regulus was scared and had shaken his head on instinct. Sirius didn't stick around long enough for Regulus to change his mind. Both Walburga and Orion were beyond livid, and Regulus was forced to endure their wrath.

He began hiding himself away, like he used to with Sirius when they were children. He would tuck himself into a closet behind their travel luggage, or sometimes even in Kreacher's cupboard. Sometimes, if he hid himself early enough in the day, his parents would forget about his existence, like maybe he was just an extension of Sirius and not the good child who stayed home.

Other days, on the days Walburga found him, his legs asleep from being in such tight places, he wished that he had trusted his brother a little more. He wished he had left too.

…

The next time Regulus saw Sirius, it was at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He was surrounded by the other Marauders, eyes bright, hair dyed to resemble a rainbow… laughing.

Regulus turned away. He didn't want to see what being free could look like—not when he had given his chance up.

…

Age 16: Spring

Somehow, Regulus managed to avoid Sirius for the entire year. It was difficult, and involved skipping lunch, eating an early breakfast, and begging Rabastan to bring him something for dinner almost every day. But, he managed.

"Why?" Rabastan asked him one night, Regulus's face tucked into his chest. "Why won't you talk to him?"

Regulus tensed up. He had been lying in a fetal position, but he tightened into a ball, trying to pull himself away from answering.

Rabastan was patient, though, rubbing gentle circles into Regulus's back. He didn't move or speak until Regulus relented roughly five minutes later.

"He always protected me," Regulus whispered. "When dad got angry, Sirius would make him angrier and direct it towards him and away from me."

Rabastan remained silent, waiting for Regulus to continue. It was intoxicating to Regulus, having someone who comforted him—who didn't push him or force him into anything.

His voice was small when he finally continued. "When he left, he stopped protecting me. He disowned me, just like he disowned our parents, and he left me to die."

Regulus paused for just a moment, curling up just a little tighter. "I won't bother with someone who has stopped believing in me."

…

Age 16: Autumn

They were strangers. They never spoke to one another. They never even looked towards the other. Regulus hated it.

...

Age 17: Spring

"Come with me."

Regulus froze at the words, not daring to turn around and face his brother. Sirius had just graduated from Hogwarts—about to start the rest of his life. Why would he want to bring Regulus along?

A part of Regulus wanted to go with him. The rest of him, a much larger part, was scared.

Slowly, he turned to face Sirius, keeping his expression blank. "You left," he said simply—no sugar coating or hidden meanings.

Sirius's expression dropped. "I know," he murmured, his hands awkwardly stuffed in his Muggle jacket. "I'm sorry I made you wait. But now… we can leave together, just like we were meant to. We can—"

Regulus cut him off. "You didn't make me wait. You left me. There's a difference, an unforgivable one."

They were harsh words, but they had been swirling around in Regulus's chest for almost a year.

Sirius's eyes were wide and uncertain—he had never been good at hiding his emotions. "Reggie I—"

"No Sirius." Regulus cut him off again, anger starting to burn through his veins. His hands were balled into fists.

"Just come with me," Sirius begged, reaching for Regulus, managing to grab his sleeve. "I miss you. I need my brother back. I… I love you."

Regulus actually snarled as he tugged his hand away. The anger inside of him was starting to be too much to handle. It burned, and he needed it to go away. "What kind of bullshit is that?" he asked, his voice raising a notch. "If it were true, you would have fucking taken me with you last year. You would have _seen_ that I was _scared_."

He advanced forward. He hadn't realized it before, but he was taller than Sirius by a couple of inches now. He towered over the brother that used to stand so strongly in front of him. Somehow, it aggravated him even more.

"I love you," Regulus mocked, letting out a harsh laugh that sounded like a death sentence. His eyes turned cold, and his voice stung like the Cruciatus. "I—loved—you," he said, punctuating each word by raising his hands and shoving Sirius backwards.

Sirius was crying. He wasn't fighting back. Regulus wished he would.

He shoved his older brother again, his features twisting into a snarl when Sirius fell backwards, landing hard on the stone floor.

"I loved you," Regulus said one final time, looking down at Sirius before shaking his head and turning to leave.

…

Age 17: Spring

When the anger finally left Regulus's body, it was well into the night. He cried, Rabastan holding him tightly.

He cried for his brother. He cried for himself.

He cried because he knew that tomorrow, he would be getting on the Hogwarts Express. He cried because he knew that when he got off, he wouldn't be getting off with Sirius.

…

Age 18: Winter

Regulus never went back to Hogwarts. He never graduated. He never saw Rabastan again.

Instead, he allowed his mother to enlist him as one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters. He hated it, but he was good at it. He had to be. He knew the consequences of refusing and failing. They were far worse with the Dark Lord than they had been with his parents.

There were times when Regulus wondered what Sirius would do. There were times when he wondered what Sirius was doing.

Those were the times that he hated himself the most.

But then an opportunity presented itself to him, and he grabbed it tight with both hands. This was his way out. This was how he would fix the things that had seemed unfixable before. He held a part of Voldemort's soul in his hands, knowing exactly what it was. The locket seemed so unassuming, yet vibrated with a dark energy.

Regulus gasped for breath, begging for water. He got too much of it, and the last thing he remembered was the image of Sirius, the night he left. He was only inches away from Regulus, his eyes determined. "Every time I fight against them… every time I face the consequences," he had said, voice quiet as to not wake their parents, "I ask myself, 'When my time is up, have I done enough?'" Sirius had smiled. "Come with me. We will fight the darkness together. We will be enough _together_."

Regulus closed his eyes, wondering if he had done enough.

The last thing he saw, the last thing he thought of, was Sirius. They weren't together physically, but Sirius had never truly left Regulus. How could he have? Regulus loved him too much to let him go.

* * *

 **Hogwarts Writing Club Prompts:**

 **\- Assorted Appreciation #2: Magnus Burnsides - Write about a carpenter. Alt: Dialogue: "I know. I'm sorry I made you wait."**

 **\- Disney Challenge Dialogue #3: 3. "Listen to your head. Heart gets you in trouble, head is your friend."**

 **\- All Sorts of Space #17: Gliese 876d - (action) Hiding in a tight space**

 **\- Showtime #44: Best of Wives, Best of Women: (time) middle of the night**

 **\- Amber's Attic #46: "When my time is up, have I done enough?"**

 **\- Sophie's Shelf #8: Task: Write about dark magic or the presence of the Devil.**

 **\- Liza's Loves #7: Subrace - Dark Elf (drow) - Write about a Death Eater or a character from a 'dark' family.**

 **\- Bex's Basement #3: Two And A Half Men - Write about brothers**


	7. I'll Always Go Back

**Sup! I wrote this for the Fanfiction Tournament Competition (theme one: Death Eaters).**

 **...**

 **Also, because I had NO idea where to start (I feel like I'm so out of practice) I asked my dear friend to gimme some Musical Theatre prompts. I built the story around these four quotes:**

 **\- "So take this moment, Mary Jane, and be selfish." - Jagged Little Pill**

 **\- "Whichever path I choose, I lose, you know." - Beetlejuice**

 **\- "I never wanted to love you." - Falsettos**

 **\- "I'm staying here in this spot, whether you want me to or not... I'm staying." - Falsettos**

 **I know, I normally just use ONE lyric prompt, but... what can I say... I got a lot of inspiration via combining the things!**

 **...**

 **Warnings: Mentions of an unhappy home life, injury/pain (from the Dark Mark), general Regulus angst, really nothing too bad?**

 **Word Count (excluding a/n) 2372**

* * *

 **I'll Always Go Back**

Regulus took a deep breath as he looked around the Great Hall. Things were different this year. Things were different in a way he didn't want to think about.

Sure, he had always had his parents' looming over him, their family 'friends' watching his every move and ensuring he stayed in line, but it was… worse now. It was so much worse knowing that if he—

"Regulus, are you going to eat, or are you just going to stare at your plate all night," Alecto Carrow said, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Regulus shook himself out of his thoughts and turned his attention to the feast before him. As always, it looked and smelled incredible. But he wasn't hungry. Still, he knew better than to appear unwell, not with so many unwanted ears listening and eyes watching, so he filled up his plate and began eating.

…

Maybe things weren't as different as he thought. A month into the school year, and he had received the same updates from his mother as always—one a week, telling him who their allies were, who to look out for, and how things were going at home. A month into the school year, and he was still a shadow, an overlooked student who got perfect marks and never got in trouble. A month into the school year, and he was still alive and unmarked.

He was a Prefect, of course. No one could be as upstanding as he, especially with the influence his family held, and not be a Prefect. So, him out and patrolling the corridors wasn't unheard of. It was normal. It was expected.

Clearly, it was too expected.

"Fancy seeing you out here."

The smooth voice broke the silence of the night, and Regulus whirled around in panic, instinctively raising his wand. His chest was heaving slightly, but the tightness of his body dissipated when he realized who it was that spoke.

James Potter was looking over him with amusement in his eyes, hands casually resting in his pockets, his stance perfectly relaxed. "Sorry. Did I startle you?" he asked, lips pulling into a casual grin.

Regulus frowned, straightened himself up, and put away his wand. "You're not on duty tonight, Potter," he said, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to regain some of his usually cool composure.

"True," James said, still grinning. Of course, his teeth shined in the low light of the corridor, as did his eyes. It was almost as if magic were coming from within him, and with his bloodline, Regulus suspected that could be true. "But even still, being Head Boy has its perks. I don't _need_ to be on duty to enjoy a late-night walk."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but didn't press the subject. Half of him wondered if maybe James was keeping him distracted so the rest of his little Marauder gang could freely pull a prank. It wasn't as if he minded, though. He had bigger problems to worry about than small time jokesters.

And besides. James Potter was a pretty good distraction.

"Reg… I hereby officially give you leave for the night. Come with me?"

Regulus allowed himself to smile. Even if James was distracting him from noticing the Marauders doing something devious, he didn't mind. A month into the school year, and their secret relationship was still as thrilling as ever.

…

By December, Regulus had actually forgotten all about what had him so worried at the beginning of the year. By December, a thousand of James' kisses had pushed all bad things out of his mind. By December, he almost felt like a normal sixteen-year-old.

But then a letter from his mother made everything rush back.

He had waited until he was out on Prefect duty to read it, not wanting to feel the prying eyes of others as he read his mother's words. Slowly chewing on his lip, he leaned against the cold stone of the hallway, the flickering torchlight casting uneven shadows around him.

His chest was tight as he finished the letter, his hands shaking. For a moment, he was glad that he was alone, but then everything came crashing down, and he wished for nothing more than to be held.

His knees gave out, and he slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his legs as he tried to slow down his breathing. He wouldn't cry. He refused to cry. He was so wrapped up in his panic, his refusal to break, that he didn't notice the sound of footsteps nearing him.

"It's okay to cry," came James' voice. Strong arms carefully wrapped around him, pulling him to a warm chest, and Regulus' body tightened. "It's okay, Reg. I've got you."

It took less than five seconds for all of Regulus's emotions to break free. He clung to James, his body shaking violently, the letter crumpling in his hands. "I can't do it, Jamie. I can't go back."

James was silent for a moment before he let out a sigh and kissed Regulus's forehead. "So take this moment. Take this moment, Regulus, and be selfish."

Regulus didn't respond. He just let James hold him close and whisper promises of a better life in his ear, knowing none of it could come to be.

…

He went back. He knew that he would always go back, even if it hurt to do so. Regulus spared one glance at James on the platform. The sadness in the Gryffindor's eyes was so potent, it shook Regulus to the core. So, he looked away, turning towards a life that had already been decided for him.

…

"You're not supposed to be on duty tonight," James said, catching up easily to Regulus as the Slytherin meandered down the hall.

Something like a sad smile passed over Regulus's lips at the sound of James's voice. "Ah, but being a Prefect has its perks. I don't need to be on duty to enjoy a late-night walk."

"Touche," James said with a small smile before grabbing Regulus' hand. "Are you okay? I… I didn't want to cause trouble by sending you a letter, but I was still worried. I worried through the whole break."

Regulus bit his lip and glanced down at their entwined fingers. He wanted to hold on as tightly as he could, to never let James go, but he knew better than to believe that was possible. Closing his eyes, he pulled away.

"There's a war coming, Jamie," he whispered, not allowing himself to look up at James. He knew what he would find: hurt, betrayal, confusion. He couldn't handle any of that. "There's a war coming, and we are on separate sides."

Regulus should have known that James wouldn't be so easy to push away, but he was still surprised when James stepped in front of him and grabbed both of his hands. "Regulus, listen to me," James said, the desperation in his voice prompting Regulus to look up.

When he met James' eyes, he didn't see hurt, betrayal, or confusion. He only saw love and a stubborn intensity.

"I never wanted to love you," James said, and Regulus almost laughed. What a weird way for a confession to start. "I never wanted to love you, Reg. We weren't meant to become whatever it is that we are, but that doesn't change the fact that… well… I do!"

Regulus could barely breathe. He attempted to pull back, but James held tight. "I'm staying here in this spot, whether you want me to or not, Reg… I'm staying. I'm staying by your side." James shifted his hands from Regulus' to grab his shoulders.

He wasn't giving up, but neither was Regulus. "Jamie. We can't keep pretending," he whispered softly, looking up at the Gryffindor. "We can't keep going on with our eyes closed to what's really happening in our world."

"But _you_ are my world, Reg," James insisted, sliding his hands down Regulus' arms, intending on grabbing his hands. He didn't get that far. Regulus jumped, his body seizing up, and took a couple of steps back when James' hand passed his left forearm.

Regulus' eyes were wide, his shoulders heaving as he gripped the sleeve of his school robes.

James frowned, his eyes searching for something, something Regulus didn't want him to see. "Reg, love. What's wrong? Why…"

Regulus just shook his head, backing away from James slowly before doing something he would never admit to. He turned and ran.

…

It wasn't easy, but Regulus had managed to stay away from James for a couple of weeks. He had traded Prefect shifts with anyone he could, and never walked around alone, always trailing another group of Slytherins. He hated it, but distancing himself from James was necessary.

He knew he couldn't keep it up forever, but that didn't stop him from trying. In any case, he wasn't surprised that James had managed to catch him off guard when he was paroling with a Seventh Year Ravenclaw Prefect. He was walking behind the girl, past an alcove, when a strong pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows.

Regulus knew who the hands belonged to, so he didn't fight it when he was pressed against a wall, and he certainly didn't fight it when James kissed him. It was passionate. It was intense. It hurt Regulus to pull away.

"This will make things harder," Regulus gasped, trying to catch his breath. He could feel James, pressed against his body, fingers in his hair, lips dancing along his jaw. "James, this will only m-make us hurt more."

"I don't care," James growled, hands moving to Regulus' hips, fingers trailing along the hem of his shirt. "I will take every moment with you that I can, no matter how much it hurts in the end."

Regulus didn't want to argue. He didn't want to fight with James. So he gave in. When James moved back to his lips, Regulus kissed back just as hard.

…

He hadn't meant to let himself be drawn back into James' hold, but when it came to the Gryffindor, he didn't have much self control.

It was all he could do to keep James from seeing his Mark, but he knew he couldn't hide it for long, especially not with how often James tugged him into alcoves, empty classrooms, and broom closets.

But he had managed, just as he had managed to keep his social status within the Slytherin circles.

Until James had grabbed his left arm in an attempt to pull him into a secret passageway. Regulus let out a yelp, his body tight as he stumbled into the shadowed passage, twisting his arm out of James' grip and turning his body away.

James frowned, grabbing Regulus' wrist. "What happened?" he asked, grabbing Regulus' sleeve. Regulus made a whimpering sound and put his hand over James,' stopping him from revealing his arm.

"Jamie, please," Regulus whispered, but James didn't listen. He shook his head, then pushed Regulus' hand away, tugging his sleeve up in the process.

James' expression was unreadable when Regulus' Dark Mark was uncovered. It was a black stain on red, angry skin. It was a blemish, and Regulus knew it. After a moment, he tugged his arm away from James and turned his eyes to the ground.

"I didn't want you to see it." Regulus' voice was shaking as hard as his hands as he rolled his sleeve back down. "I didn't want you to… know. I—" he cut himself off, shaking his head.

Regulus swallowed, straightening himself up. "War is coming, James, and we aren't on the same side," he said, giving James a sad smile before pushing past him out of the passageway.

James let him go.

…

James didn't stay away for long.

Only two nights had passed since Regulus' Mark had been revealed before he was pulled into another alcove—something he had gotten used to in his fifth year when he and James had just started dating.

Regulus was quiet when Jame rolled his left sleeve up. He tried to hide his wince when James' fingers danced over his reddened skin.

"Did they do this to you during Christmas break?" James asked softly, still tracing Regulus' skin, but never once actually touching the Mark.

Regulus swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded.

"And it's still this... " James trailed off. Slowly, careful not to touch any part of the writhing snake or blackened skull, James kissed Regulus' wrist. "Did it hurt?"

Regulus couldn't bring himself to use his voice; he nodded.

"Does it still?" James' voice was no more than a whisper, tilting his head up to watch Regulus.

Unable to stop himself, Regulus nodded.

…

"I never chose this life," Regulus whispered the night before James graduated. The pair had snuck out of the castle and down to the lake, taking in as much peace as they could from the late-spring evening. James was leaning back against a tree. Regulus was situated between his legs, his back to James' chest.

James sighed, gently kissing the side of Regulus' head. "I know."

"I stayed to protect Sirius," Regulus continued, eyes trained on the lake. "I stayed to take the Dark Lord's attention off of Sirius. He needed… he needed an heir from each family. I knew what I was getting into."

"I know," James whispered, holding him a little closer.

Regulus wasn't done. "Whichever path I choose, I lose, you know. But losing your love… that's a sacrifice I have to make if it means I can keep Sirius safe."

"I know, Reg. I would choose the same thing," James said softly. "But… if you ever find a way to get out of there, to leave that life behind, you know I'll be here for you, right?"

Regulus allowed himself to smile, to relax back into James. "Yeah. I know."

He knew James would be there for him, but he had a feeling that the only way out of the Dark Lord's reach was through death. Still, if he had to choose between his death and Sirius' life… well, that was hardly a choice. He would pick Sirius' life every time.


	8. What the World Couldn't Drown

**Wassup? This (like the last in this collection) is written for Amber's Fanfiction Tournament Competitions (Theme one: Death Eaters). I did everything I could to make it not be written about Regulus... and he still makes an appearance. Sigh...**

 **...**

 **I included three musical theatre lines, because... that's the entire point of this collection. Compliments of Elizabeth. These lines were what spurred the ENTIRE fic. Apparently, I no longer know how to write a fic without inspiration. Wow. Ok. Well... Here they are:**

 **"Why are we digging our own graves for a living?" - Hadestown**

 **"He's grown so afraid that he'll lose what he owns. But what he doesn't know is that what he's defending is already gone." - Hadestown**

 **"Welcome to the land where the waters tried to drown us and we said, 'We will not be drowned!'" - Come From Away**

 **...**

 **I wrote this whilst intoxicated, so thank you Wifey, for being my beta and dealing with all my stupid mistakes!**

 **...**

 **Warnings: erm… blood, major character death, death of a baby, depression, war. My usual, I guess**

 **Word Count (excluding a/n): 2894**

* * *

 **What The World Couldn't Drown**

Bellatrix smiled as she looked down at her left arm. Blood was pouring freely from her nose, just as sweat ran rivulets down each and every crevice of her body. She looked as if she had been through Hell and back, and… in a way, she had.

Her eyes, pupils dilated and whites turned red, danced from her forearm to the man who stood before her. She grinned, and the gesture seemed as genuine as it could in her crazed state.

"Thank you for this honor, my Lord," she whispered, bowing her head to look down in fascination at her arm once more. The Dark Mark gleamed back at her, the skin around it red and blistered.

In the background, behind the madwoman, her sister fell to her knees. Tears welled up in her eyes as she accepted her fate and let the pain consume her.

…

"What are we doing here, Trixie?" Narcissa murmured, looking down in horror at the blemish on her skin. Her right hand was gripping her left arm at the elbow, as if she could cut off the blood supply—as if she could stop the magic that pulsated through her own Dark Mark.

Bellatrix looked up from her maps. The two of them were studying in the Malfoy Manor's library. Her own library, Narcissa supposed. There was to be a raid in a few days time, and the two sisters were known to be brilliant strategists.

With a laugh, Bellatrix looked back down. "We are helping our Lord, Cissa. Or have you already forgotten your oath?"

Narcissa closed her eyes, her fingers finally loosening and falling from her skin. "I suppose," she replied. Half of her wanted to break down, to cry out that she hadn't wanted to take the oath, that she hadn't wanted any part of this life, but a twist in her stomach told her to keep quiet.

She felt like she was drowning, but she knew that Bellatrix wouldn't understand.

…

Panic welled up in Narcissa's chest as the smell of blood and burnt flesh reached her. Her part in the raid wasn't important. She was to come in after it was all said and done to make sure nothing could be traced back to any of the exact participating parties. A part of her job was to put the Dark Mark over the scene of the crime.

To put it simply, no one believed she had the spine to do what needed to be done. She had to admit that she agreed. Just the smell of carnage made her double over and empty the contents of her stomach, and she hadn't even seen any of the damage.

Regulus Black stepped beside her. His job was the same as hers, though not because anyone believed him to be weak. He was there because he was young. He was only twelve, the youngest soldier the Dark Lord had ever taken. But there was a reason for it.

He was cold. The perfect heir to a blood-purest family. At just twelve, he commanded attention. He commanded control. Regulus Black was everything to the Dark Lord. The perfect prodigy.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice so quiet that none other than Narcissa could have possibly heard him.

Narcissa nodded, straightening herself up. "I suppose," she whispered in return, giving Regulus the smallest of smiles. Just as she knew he would, he remained stone-faced and simply nodded in return.

That was the thing about Regulus Black. He put on a perfect air, a beautifully dark mask, but that's all it was. At just twelve, he was such a good Occlumens that everyone believed him to be a perfect supporter of the Dark Lord.

But, he had other reasons for joining Voldemort's ranks. Ones that Narcissa didn't even bother to ask.

"Why are we digging our own graves for a living?" Narcissa finally asked as she straightened her spine. It was all she could do to not run away from the ruins before her.

Regulus gave Narcissa a bleak smile, no humor or love in his features. "I say it's because we are masochists. No other reason."

At that, Narcissa let out a soft laugh. "That's too big a word for a child your age to be using, my dear cousin."

"I'm not sure you've noticed," Regulus said, all emotion leaving his face as he tugged on Narcissa's sleeve and led her into the burning building, "but I'm not like most children my age."

…

"What are you hiding from our Lord?" Bellatrix snarled as she chased Narcissa through the halls of the Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa hadn't meant for it to get this far. She hadn't meant to make the Dark Lord suspicious, and she certainly hadn't meant for her sister to find out, but it wasn't as if she had a choice. She wasn't going to let them in on her secret, not if it meant betraying her own flesh and blood.

She had a plan. A plan to escape before anyone noticed the changes in her body. She would flee this life. Lucius wanted out just as much as she did, and the plan was his. On a night of one of their raids, Lucius would remain behind with Narcissa and Regulus to help them with their clean-up duties. From there, they would extend an invitation to Regulus, a young boy who was just as forced into this life as anyone else. Then, they would leave it all behind.

She wasn't paying close enough attention to where she was going. A scream ripped through her chest as she fell, tumbling down a flight of stairs, one arm reaching out to grab at the railing—anything that could stop her fall—as the other wrapped protectively around her stomach.

…

When she came to, Lucius was standing over her, his face pale. Behind him stood the Dark Lord, his eyes glowing red. He was pale, not quite as beautiful as he had been when Narcissa had first seen him, but he still commanded the room. His shoulders and jaw were square, his hair dark. No matter what angle she looked upon him, he was intimidating.

"I have wonderful news," the Dark Lord said, his voice sending shivers down Narcissa's spine. "Your baby survived the fall. Congratulations, my dear."

Horror formed in the pit of her stomach, and she had to fight the urge to be sick right then and there. She glanced up at Lucius, his features pulled into a forced smile. His eyes, however, gave her an apology so sincere, she started crying.

"What is the matter?" the Dark Lord asked, sounding amused, as if a woman's emotions were a trivial thing. He stepped closer to Narcissa's bedside, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "The heir to the Malfoy bloodline will be a great asset to our cause. He will be honored above many others."

Narcissa forced a smile through her tears, throwing up shields all across her mind. "Of course, my Lord. I'm just overjoyed that my baby is alright."

…

Narcissa chewed on her lip as her eyes roamed her garden, her hand resting protectively on her stomach. She wasn't allowed on any of the raids anymore. The Dark Lord had refused it, claiming that her mission was to give him a prodigy that rivaled Regulus Black.

So, she waited with bated breath every time her husband went out. She knew that what Lucius was doing was wrong, but she was far past right and wrong. Her entire life was based around survival. Her own, Lucius,' and her child's.

And Regulus,' if she could manage.

No one suspected the boy. The Death Eaters, in their own twisted way, loved him. He was apt in Dark Arts, calm in the face of danger and pain, and was unsuspecting enough to be the perfect spy. No one expected a child to fight in the war.

Narcissa still wasn't sure why Regulus was doing what he was doing, and she worried for him endlessly. He was slowly becoming the Dark Lord's left hand man, second only to Lucius (much to Bellatrix's dismay). It was a dangerous place to be in, but Narcissa figured anywhere in their world was dangerous as long as Voldemort continued to be a threat.

However, Narcissa almost felt pity for her Lord, as she realized the two people closest to him wished nothing but harm to come to him.

"My love," Lucius said from behind her, carefully wrapping his arms around her torso.

She leaned back into him, ignoring the way he smelled of battle. "You made it home," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.

Lucius' arms tightened just slightly around her as he buried his face in her hair, breathing all of her in. "Yes, my love. I'm home."

…

Her baby was taken from her as soon as he was born. She hadn't even had the chance to name him.

She was told not to care—a squib wasn't worth crying over. But it didn't matter to her.

Her beautiful baby boy was gone, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Only remain in the darkness of her room, left in solitude to mourn.

Or maybe, she wasn't as alone as she thought.

"Cissa?" Regulus asked in a small voice, peaking into her room. She could barely see him in the darkness, the torchlight flickering across his face.

It pained her to do so, but she sat up, pushing herself so that her back was propped up against the headboard of her bed. "Regulus? Are you… are you alright?"

She saw a sad smile pass over his lips before he closed the door, leaving them in perfect darkness until whispering, "Lumos," and giving them just a little light to see each other by. "That's the question I came to ask you."

Something panged in Narcissa's chest, and tears welled back up in her eyes. She had already cried for hours and had thought herself to be all dried out, but apparently she had been wrong.

When she didn't say anything, Regulus hesitantly crawled into her bed and pulled her into a hug. "I'm so sorry, Cissa," he whispered. He was shaking, and so was she. "I should have done something. I should have stopped—"

"No, Regulus," she said, pulling away and instantly cupping his face tenderly in her hands. There were tears in his eyes, and she marveled briefly. She had never seen him cry before. Blinking herself back to reality, she gave him a small smile. "There's nothing you could have done, my darling. We are living in a land where waters are constantly trying to drown us. We are bound to experience loss, but we must stand strong. We will not be drowned."

Regulus hiccoughed, clearly not used to showing such emotion, before nodding. "Okay," he managed, though as soon as Narcissa released his face and pulled him back into another tight hug, he let out a sob.

…

Things changed after that. Narcissa was deemed weak for having created such an unworthy heir, and she was hidden away so that she couldn't shame the Dark Lord anymore. That meant no more raids, and no more clean-up jobs. She could no longer be trusted. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord still kept Lucius close, and Regulus even closer.

She lost track of time, hidden away in the Manor like a princess locked in a tower. Not that she minded. She read a lot and played the piano. However, with so much time to herself, she also began worrying even more and more.

Every night, when Lucius came home relatively unscathed, she would let out a soft sob. Every time Regulus came to visit, she clutched him tight to her chest, noticing how much he had grown in his absence.

When Lucius came home, holding Regulus in his arms, Narcissa forced herself not to be sick.

"He finally took the Mark," Lucius said as he laid Regulus on the sofa across from where Narcissa sat. The boy was pale, his body tense despite his unconsciousness. The skin around his Mark was red and blistered.

Narcissa set her book aside, panic growing in his chest. "He's just a boy," she breathed, rushing towards Regulus, her hand flying to his forehead as soon as she was by his side. His skin burned like fire.

"He's seventeen," Lucius whispered, looking just as strained and worried as Narcissa felt. "Just as we were."

She shook her head, quietly beginning to cast healing charms… anything to ease the pain she knew Regulus must be feeling. "We're still too young to be fighting this war."

…

Regulus was determined. Narcissa could see it in the slight glint of his eyes, no matter how well he could hide his emotions. Except, maybe he wasn't doing such a good job, based on the way he was pacing around Narcissa's sitting room as she gently played on the piano.

"He's created a Horcrux," Regulus said, his voice even as he relayed the crucial information over to Narcissa. "This… This is what I've been waiting for."

Narcissa frowned, her fingers stilling on the ivory keys. "Waiting for?" she prompted, turning to glance at Regulus.

He turned his eyes on her before sighing. "Yes. Waiting for." He paused for a moment, seeming to wage an internal battle, before giving in and continuing. "At first, I was waiting for Sirius to get out of the house. I figured, if I was the perfect son, a perfect gift for Voldemort, then at least some of their attention would be drawn away from him."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at his words, fighting off a smile. Most people assumed Regulus was cold and hard, but hearing what he had to say showed her that it was love that kept him going.

"When Sirius left, I couldn't just… defect. Not with the position I hold in Voldemort's ranks. I've been waiting, for the last three years, for something to take with me—something that will change the tides of this war. Something that will bring that son of a bitch down to his knees," Regulus explained, and Narcissa's smile grew. She had never seen such anger in Regulus' features. It was inspiring.

"And you think this Horcrux is that 'something' you were looking for?" she asked, egging him on.

Regulus grinned, and that was all the answer Narcissa needed.

…

When news came of his death, Narcissa couldn't breathe. She could barely feel Lucius' arms as he held her close.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair, gently rocking her back and forth. "I wish I could have done something. I wish I could have saved him."

But Narcissa knew better. She knew nothing could have been done. The waters had taken Regulus, just as they had taken her baby boy.

In war, everyone mourned someone.

…

Narcissa's hand rested protectively on her stomach, biting back bile. The Dark Lord looked nothing like he used to. He was pale—snake-like with beady, red eyes and slits for a nose. He hardly seemed human anymore, and Narcissa pitied him all the more for it.

"Do you think this child won't turn out like the last?" he said, his voice unnaturally high. He looked down upon Narcissa as if she were the mud on his boot, and it was all she could do to keep her mouth shut.

Lucius had always been a better diplomat. "My Lord," he simpered, bowing his head slightly. "It is uncommon for a bloodline as pure as ours to bear more than one squib. This child will have the capability to bring glory to your name."

The Dark Lord smiled, which wasn't a pretty sight. His lips curled back to reveal discolored teeth. "Very well," he said simply before turning on his heel and leaving the Malfoys on their own.

"He's no longer a man," Narcissa snarled as soon as she was sure that he was gone.

Lucius nodded, his eyes remaining on the door that the Dark Lord had walked through. "He's grown so afraid that he'll lose what he owns. But, what he doesn't know is that what he's defending is already gone."

Pity for the man who had once been so great, despite all of his evil, returned to Narcissa in full force. She knew that the Dark Lord's reign was coming to an end.

…

Narcissa was exhausted, but nothing could keep her from holding her little boy. She gently bounced him in her arms, marveling at how tiny he was.

"My little Draco," she whispered. "Welcome to the land where the waters tried to drown us, and we said, "We will not be drowned!'"

Draco hiccoughed, and Narcissa's smile grew. She knew that she wouldn't let anything take him away. She wouldn't make the same mistakes as before.

…

When Voldemort was pronounced dead, Narcissa started crying. Her tears were ones of joy, for the darkness that no longer stood over her and her husband like a shadow. Her tears were ones of relief, for the knowledge that no one would have to live in fear of him again.

But, most of all, her tears were ones of mourning, for everything that was lost in the wake of the Dark Lord's destruction.

That night, she held Draco closer to her than ever before.


	9. Build a School (Leave a Legacy)

**Written for QLFC: Season 8, Round 1**

 **Team: Kenmare Kestrels (Captain)**

 **Prompt: The Hero - Goal: Change the World**

 **Warnings: Mentions of a not so great home life and themes of silenced women**

 **Word count (excluding AN): 2620**

 **...**

 **The Musical prompt I used for this was given to my by Elizabeth last year. It's from Hadestown: "Who are you to think that you can walk a road that no one ever walked before?"**

 **...**

 **On to the fic!**

* * *

 **Build a School, Leave a Legacy**

"This isn't a game, Godric," Rowena said, pushing up from her place at the table and gathering the edges of her dress in her hands. She began pacing, her shoes clicking on the stone floor. Frankly, it bothered everyone around her, but no one was about to say anything.

It wasn't as if they feared her. Of course, most people were terrified under the calculating gaze of the witch, but the table didn't seat 'most people.' It sat the four (well, three since Rowena was pacing around in a frenzy) most accomplished and powerful magicians the world had ever seen.

No, not a single occupant at the table was truly afraid of her, though Rowena thought they ought to be. They just knew she would be easier to work with if they allowed her to pace out her problems.

"My dear," Helga said, turning in her chair to look at Rowena, catching the other woman's hands in her own. "All of us understand the severity of the topic. We aren't messing about, isn't that right, Godric?"

There was a warning in Helga's voice, and it made Rowena smile. Helga could be scary… if she put her mind to it. She chanced a glance at Godric, whose face paled at an alarming rate. "Of course not," Godric managed in a slight stammer, wilting under Helga's gaze.

Salazar snorted, leaning back in his seat in the most casual manner possible. "So all that talk of a giant, fire-breathing lion randomly attacking the students just to 'keep them on their toes,' was a load of Hippogriff dung?"

Godric's face, previously as white as a sheet from Helga's threat, reddened so he resembled a ripe tomato. "I thought it was a brilliant idea, Sal." He pushed up from his seat, just as restless as Rowena, knocking his chair back and slamming his hands down on the table. "I thought the idea of this whole school was to teach the most promising witches and wizards across our land. Shouldn't we have something more challenging than classes?"

After sliding her hands out of Helga's, Rowena continued her pacing. She had to admit—

"Godric has a point," Salazar said, cutting through Rowena's thoughts. "We are providing schooling to the best. Should we not create challenges for them along the way? If they truly belong at _our_ school, the students should be able to handle anything we throw at them."

"Well, a giant, fire-breathing lion is out of the question," Helga interjected. "I won't have our students brutally maimed on their walk to lunch."

"What about a Basilisk?" Salazar asked, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. There was a slight glint in his eyes, a boyish hope that his friends would agree to something that obviously no one would agree to.

Rowena rolled her eyes and turned to face him, her hands perching on her hips. "No beasts in the castle, but maybe we could come up with a few… friendly obstacles for our students."

If the boys had been at all put out by their ideas being shot down, they didn't show it. Excitement glittered across their expressions. Everyone in the room knew one fact above all others: Rowena could make things fun (yet also somehow safe and practical? Godric had no idea how she accomplished this).

"How do we feel about a maze of moving staircases?" she asked with a grin.

...

The whole thing had been her idea. She wasn't doing it for fame or glory, nor was she in it to change the world (though she figured all of that would be an added bonus). In actuality, she was doing it to prove her father wrong… and to impart her wisdom on a younger generation. She was quite fond of imparting wisdom.

Her father believed that women weren't strong enough to handle magic properly. He believed that a woman could be a healer or a housewitch, but nothing more. Dueling, advanced potions, detailed charmwork… all of that was best left to the men, just as it had been for generations upon generations of witches and wizards.

How Rowena learned the magic that she did under her father's rule is a secret that only four people knew. He was strict, only allowing her tutors to teach her the most menial of spellwork, so she found some people who would teach her everything that they knew.

She met Helga Hufflepuff at a festival when she was five. As children do, they promised to be best friends for life, and Helga stuck to Rowena's side ever since, quietly teaching her about potions and sneaking her books to read.

She met Godric Gryffindor when she was eleven. She had snuck out of her house and into the nearby woods quite regularly to practice more advanced magic than her father would allow. One night, when she was practicing defensive spellwork, Godric stumbled upon her, laughed at how poor her stance was, and vowed to make a proper dueling opponent out of her. It only took one month of training with him before it was a fair fight between the two. One month more, and she bested him nearly every time they crossed wands.

She met Salazar Slytherin at a wedding when she was sixteen. It was common for them both to attend events such as weddings, as both of their families had a high standing in the wizarding community. He asked her to dance, and she obliged. He didn't make any promises or vows. Instead, he leaned in close, his lips near her ear, and whispered, "With your intelligence and beauty, you could make them grovel."

His words fueled the fire that had been building inside her for as long as she could remember. She didn't want to rule; power wasn't what she craved. She only wanted recognition. She wanted everyone to realize that she, Rowena Ravenclaw, could create a legacy despite the life she had been given. She wanted her father to see her as she truly was: someone worthy of magic.

When she couldn't handle being bound by her father's rules any longer, she made a proposition to her friends, and they agreed. It was quite the scandal when the four of them escaped their family estates and moved in together in the heart of a bustling wizarding town. Two witches and two wizards, all unwed, all in their early twenties, living under the same roof?

It was madness. It was unheard of. It was brilliant, in Rowena's opinion.

She was free to experiment with any magic she desired—they all were. Rowena and Salazar started a library so massive, they had to put extension charms on all of the bookshelves. Helga began experimenting with her garden, using it to further her Potions research (after she created the Polyjuice Potion, she strutted around their home as Godric for a fortnight, much to his annoyance). Godric began focusing on defensive magic, even going as far as creating suits of armor that could come to life and protect them at all costs.

After a few years of allowing themselves to fully be immersed in magic, weidling it so masterfully that anyone in their right mind feared the four, Rowena brought up the idea of _sharing_ what they knew.

And so, the dream of their school was born.

…

The four were at their table in the library again. Rowena was pacing, Godric was fidgeting with the sword he had just commissioned from a well-known Goblin blacksmith, Salazar was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up, and Helga was taking notes.

"I still think Hogwarts is a stupid name," Salazar drawled, sounding bored.

Rowena turned on him with a frown. "The school was my idea. I get to name it. Besides, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is _not_ a stupid name!"

Salazar rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

Fuming, Rowena turned away. They had most of the logistics figured out. They had the land bought and the structure of the Houses figured out (Helga and Rowena were in the process of charming the Sorting Hat, something that was taking them far longer than they wanted, but they wanted it to be done well, so no one complained). They were really just working on finishing up the schematics for the castle, but sometimes they (usually the boys) got sidetracked.

"Do we need a motto?" Helga asked, her head tilted to the side as she tapped her quill to her lips.

Rowena faced her, still annoyed that Salazar insulted the school's name. "Why would we need a motto?"

"Every school needs a motto," Helga replied with a shrug, as if it were common knowledge.

"Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon," Godric cut in excitedly, standing up and stabbing his sword into the table. It wasn't the first time he had done that—he had a tendency to be overly dramatic when he was excited.

Rowena, Salazar, and Helga all stared at him as if he had sprouted a second head. He at least had the decency to blush slightly. "What? It is good advice. No one ever said a school motto needs to be… serious."

It took her a moment, but Rowena finally sighed and looked down at her hands. "Fine, but let's at least write it in Latin?"

Godric grinned. "Deal."

…

They went to public events in shifts, rarely all at the same time. There was too much work to be done on the castle for them to go anywhere together. So, while two of them would stay behind and get some physical work done, the other two would go out and get some social work done. They needed students, and they weren't going to get them if no one knew about their school.

Word was starting to get around. The four of them had been a hot topic for years, ever since they all moved in together. With the public _finally_ knowing what they have been doing all this time, they were getting more and more invites to fundraisers, balls, and weddings.

The current event was a ball. Rowena and Salazar attended together, but spent most of the night on seperate sides of the ballroom, talking to different people about their school.

For hours Rowena smiled, danced, drank gigglewater, conversed on her transfiguration theories, made small talk…. She didn't exactly find it fun, but some of the people she talked to were intriguing, and some had children, so she found the night to be successful.

Until she heard the voice of someone she wasn't prepared to face.

"Who are you to think that you can walk a road that no one ever walked before?" he asked, his voice booming loud enough to turn many heads towards him.

Rowena felt her body tense up before she forced herself to keep her head high. She turned to face her father, the perfect image of a powerful woman despite how small she felt in his presence. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her eyebrow perfectly raised.

Her father snorted. "It's unheard of. A school, co-founded by a _witch_ ," he spat, looking at her in disgust. "Don't tell me you're actually going to be teaching women."

"Co-founded by two witches, actually," Rowena corrected, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "And we will be teaching all with an aptitude and desire for magic."

It was everything she could do to keep her eyes on her father. All she wanted was for Salazar to come to her side, to back her up, but she knew that wouldn't be happening. This was something that she had to do on her own. She had to earn everyone's respect.

"It's time for a new era, father," she said, keeping her voice as even as possible. "Magic is much larger than any single person. It is something that must be cultivated and respected in all of us. This school will be a new beginning, a place where no one fears education. All who enter will find that magic seeps through the very stones of the school, feeding its students with the capabilities of building a better future."

Her father tried cutting in, but she didn't let him. "This school won't just teach a few students to do some spells and learn about past wars. No. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will change the wizarding world in its entirety."

There was silence for a moment, even the band had stopped playing by this point, but her father was so red, Rowena knew that the silence wouldn't last.

"You will fail," he snarled, stepping forward as if to grab her. Salazar, however, stepped in by putting a hand on his shoulder and holding him back. Another man, someone Rowena didn't recognize, grabbed her father's other shoulder. In unison, Salazar and the man began pulling her father towards the doors, and the crowd parted, allowing them to remove him from the premises.

Rowena just smiled. "I will bring honor to the Ravenclaw name."

The rest of the night was a blur. She vaguely remembered Salazar at her side, his arm around her waist as he supported her. There may have been more dancing, more drinking. She may have had people coming up to congratulate her on how she handled her father. It was fuzzy, though, and she wouldn't have made it back home without Salazar.

She didn't stay home, though. As soon as she walked into her room, she felt herself come back at full force. All her anger, pride, and resentment towards her father flooded through her veins, and she disapparated with a loud crack, waking everyone in the house up.

She apparated to the half-built castle and began working in earnest, her wand sparking in her hand and her eyes wild. The castle had been built up until the Seventh floor, so that's where she made her room. She had no plan—hadn't even thought of it before that moment—her magic was instinctual.

She had no idea how long it took her, but by the time she was done, the sun was rising. She fell to her knees, her wand slipping out of her hand, exhaustion overcoming her. The room wasn't visible, not at the moment, but it would always be there for anyone who sought it. It would be there for anyone who needed to hide, anyone who needed comfort. But most importantly, it would be there for anyone who had to practice their magic.

If anyone tried to control learning in Rowena's school, the Room of Requirement would be there to keep the students in control of their own education.

…

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Rowena called to the small gaggle of children in front of her. Of course, there weren't too many families that sent their kids to the school, but the four had been expecting that. They guessed that it would take a couple of years for the castle to meet full occupancy.

"Settle down. The Sorting will begin momentarily," Helga cut in as they led the children into the Great Hall.

Rowena's hands were shaking, with nerves or excitement, she wasn't sure. September first. They had done it. They had brought their school to life, and they had students.

Godric brought out the Sorting Hat and a stool as Salazar unrolled some parchment: the list of students to be sorted.

"Abbot, Regina," Salazar called, and a young girl stepped forward. She looked hesitant as she walked to the stool, so Rowena gave her a small, encouraging smile.

Regina Abbot carefully sat down and allowed Godric to place the hat upon her head. It sat there for a moment, seeming to contemplate, before shouting out, "RAVENCLAW!"


End file.
